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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036041">A Christmas Waif</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky'>Squeaky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes has a good family, Catholic Steve Rogers, Christmas, Family, Grief/Mourning, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:16:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>While driving in a middle of a snow storm, Steve Rogers ends up stranded at a small-town diner in New Sokovia, two hours away from his destination of Ithaca, New York. </p><p>The diner's owner, Freddie Barnes, and her son, Bucky, rescue Steve and take him home to wait until the storm passes. Giving lost travelers a safe place to stay is a Barnes' family tradition. They even have a name for these people: Christmas waifs.</p><p>The Barnes family are open, warm and inviting, and Steve quickly falls in love with Freddie, George, Rebecca and Rachael, and especially Bucky, who was once a Christmas Waif himself. </p><p>But Steve has a secret grief that won't let him stay with Bucky or his family, no matter how close it is to Christmas, or how much he doesn't want to leave. Or how badly his leaving will break Bucky's heart...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Star Spangled Secret Santa 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Christmas Waif</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangyababy/gifts">bangyababy</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>With huge thanks to the Mods of the <b>Star Spangled Secret Santa</b> holiday gift exchange!</p><p>Written for the hugely deserving <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangyababy/pseuds/bangyababy"> Bangyababy. </a> They're a great writer and I hope this fic makes them very happy. Happy holidays Bangyababy!</p><p>Beta'd by the supremely awesome <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet"> Taste_is_Sweet. </a> Who also made the INCREDIBLE artwork! She is my beta and best friend and she definitely made this fic better.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>The snow was falling faster than the windshield wipers could clear it. </p><p>Steve Rogers swore under his breath and lifted his foot off the accelerator. He’d had the bright idea to take the I-81 to Ithaca from Brooklyn instead of the slightly longer N-17, but a major accident just past Scranton had forced him off the highway and onto a country road, after he’d already been inching along for hours. He was now headed towards some town called New Sokovia that he’d never heard of. </p><p>Apparently, New Sokovia had never heard of street lamps. The road he was driving on was lit only by the headlights from his car and the reflection of the light on the snow. Steve had snow tires on his Ford Explorer, which made it feel sturdy and safe even in the worst conditions, but the snow was so thick he had no visibility two feet beyond the front of his vehicle. He’d turned the radio off miles ago, and his hands were hurting from how tight he was holding the steering wheel.  </p><p><i>I should stop,</i> he thought to himself. <i>Wait out the storm.</i> An image of his mother, dressed in her Sunday best flashed through his mind, and he grit his teeth. He’d made a promise to her that he’d be at Midnight Mass on Christmas. He intended to keep that promise.</p><p>Only he had no idea where he was. The cloud cover was so dense that his phone couldn’t contact the satellites to help pinpoint his location. He’d left the highway over an hour ago, and nothing that he could actually see looked at all familiar. The fact night had fallen around four thirty that afternoon wasn’t helping, either. It was all dark trees against a dark sky covered in tons and tons of falling snow. It was nearly ten p.m. and he’d been on the road for almost seven hours, knuckles white nearly the entire time.</p><p>There was a light up ahead, just off the road and Steve let out a breath. Carefully, he turned onto the sideroad leading to the building. His car fishtailed, the wheels sliding in the slick, icy snow. For a sickening moment, Steve thought he was going to spin out and end up in the ditch, but the tires caught and he was able to wobble into the parking lot.</p><p>He more let the car skid to a stop than parked it, but as he couldn’t see the lines anyway, he figured it wouldn’t be a problem. His car was the only vehicle there. </p><p>It was a truck stop, with the charming name of <i>Freddie’s</i>. The lights were on inside and the sign in the window proclaimed Open 24 hours! in cheery red neon. The windows had holiday themed decals proclaiming <i>Happy Holidays!</i> And <i>Merry Christmas!</i> And even <i>Happy Hanukkah!</i> with sparkly letters. It looked warm and inviting and Steve sighed in relief. He could get a cup of coffee and some directions before heading out again. </p><p>He went to open the driver’s side door, then stopped and looked towards the back seat where the small box lay. He swallowed against the rush of grief, forcing it down until it was manageable. It would probably get cold if he left it in the car, but he couldn’t imagine bringing it inside with him. Besides, it wasn’t like the cold could hurt. Not anymore. He opened the door.</p><p>Despite the short distance from his car, Steve was covered in snow by the time he went inside. The large flakes immediately started to melt, dampening his hair and running down the back of his neck. He shivered and ran his hand through his hair, trying to get rid of the drops.</p><p>“Should’ve worn a hat,” an older woman said as she approached him. She was wearing a cozy-looking red sweater over a pair of jeans and a white apron over them both. There was a red Santa hat on her head with a gold Menorah pinned on it. “You’ll catch your death otherwise.” </p><p>“I left it in the car,” Steve said. </p><p>She looked at him. “How’s it going to help you there? Never mind. Come in and have something warm to drink. Just looking at you is making me cold.” </p><p>Steve followed her into the main dining area. It was row upon row of red vinyl booths with tables that wouldn’t’ve have looked out of place in the 1950s. The walls had vintage black and white photos of what must have been the history of both the truck stop and New Sokovia itself. The interior had been liberally decorated with shiny garlands, Christmas ornaments and Hanukkah symbols. Steve was instantly charmed.</p><p>“Nice place you got here.” Steve slid into the booth the woman had directed him to, marvelling at how clean and un-sticky it was. </p><p>“It’s a living.” She smiled. “What can I get you?”</p><p>“Coffee?” Steve looked up at her. “And maybe a menu?” He hadn’t realized he was hungry until he sat down. She disappeared and came back a moment later with a menu and a steaming pot of coffee, pouring him a cup.  Steve thanked her and took the menu, in awe of how much they offered. “What do you suggest?”</p><p>Her smile broadened. “You look like you’re about the same age as my son, and he’s always hungry. I’d suggest the pancakes with a side of Canadian bacon.” </p><p>“Sounds good.” He closed the menu and handed it back to her. “Thank you, ma’am.” </p><p>“Ma’am?” The woman laughed. “Please, everyone calls me Freddie. I’ll get your food ready.”  She sauntered off towards the kitchen.</p><p>Steve leaned back against the seat, sipping his coffee. It was surprisingly good for such an out-of-the way place, and lord knew he needed it to help keep him awake. He wondered if this was the main restaurant in New Sokovia. He figured that Freddie must be the person the restaurant was named after, and she was probably also the owner. He wondered how many employees she’d need to have to stay open 24/7. He let his thoughts drift as he stared out the window, watching the huge snowflakes. His car was already completely covered in snow and he’d barely sat down. He bit his lip, wondering how he was going to manage to make it to Ithaca before morning. </p><p>He pulled out his phone to check the weather. The symbols denoted heavy snowfall for the next two days, ending the morning of Christmas Eve. Steve chewed his lip as anxiety curdled his stomach. He’d promised Father Byrne he’d be there before mass. It was important.   </p><p>The cup was warm against his mouth as he took a sip and peered out into the storm. The lights from the restaurant made the snow sparkle as fell heavily past the windows, making it appear gentle and light instead of the driving storm it was. It was lovely in a way: soft and silent. A perfect snowfall to enjoy while in a cozy cabin by a fire with the windows and doors keeping out the cold. Steve sighed, wishing he wouldn’t have to brave it again, but knowing he’d have no choice if he wanted to keep his promise.</p><p>“Pretty ugly out there,” Freddie said as she put down a plate of steaming hot pancakes with a generous portion of Canadian bacon. The pancakes smelled like vanilla and Steve’s mouth watered. Freddie fished a bottle of maple syrup out of the pocket of her apron and a handful of small packets of butter, placing them on the table. </p><p>“Thanks,” Steve said with a smile. And then: “Yeah, it was pretty rough to drive in before, and it seems to be falling twice as fast.” </p><p>“I doubt you’ll be driving any more tonight.” Freddie shook her head. “You got a place to stay?”</p><p>“I’m heading to my uncle’s in Ithaca,” Steve said. “He’s a priest.”</p><p>“Well, I hope he’s praying for you to arrive tonight, because that’s probably the only way you’ll make it.” She grinned to take the sting out of her words. </p><p>Steve gave her a tight smile. “I need to get there.” </p><p>“We’ve all got places to be, honey,” she sighed. “But sometimes the weather doesn’t cooperate. You don’t want to be driving in that.” </p><p>No, he really didn’t. He could admit that to himself, and Freddie. “Probably not.” He felt the guilt gnawing at him, the awful feeling he was going to let his uncle down. That he was going to let his <i>mother</i> down. “But once the snowplows come through, it’ll be fine.” </p><p>“True, but they won’t be by until the snow stops falling,” Freddie said. “It’ll be days before they clear these roads.” </p><p>“Days?” Steve put down the bite of pancake he was going to put in his mouth. “But I need to get to Ithaca tonight!” </p><p>“You’re not making it tonight,” she said. “Not unless you drive a tank.”</p><p>“My Ford Explorer’ll make it.” Steve said it with more conviction than he felt. He remembered how his snow tires had slid on the turn and the snow had most likely doubled since then.</p><p>“If you say so,” she said skeptically. </p><p>“It’ll be fine.” Steve forced himself to smile. “I’ve driven in worse than this.” That was a bit of a lie. New York City shut down when the weather got this bad. And he rarely drove in New York anyway. It wasn’t necessary when city transit and your feet could take you everywhere you wanted to go.  </p><p>“You know, Ithaca will still be there in a couple of days. No harm in staying safe in the meantime.” Freddie patted him on the shoulder before turning towards the back of the restaurant. “I’ll get you some more coffee.” </p><p>Steve slowly ate the rest of his pancakes. Freddie came back and filled his cup, but didn’t stay to chat. The snow kept piling up outside until his car looked like a shapeless mound glistening in the lights from the restaurant. </p><p>Another pair of headlamps turned the corner towards the restaurant. The vehicle was steady and sure on the icy road and barely skidded as it made the bend. It was a large pickup truck with a plow attached to the front and it parked right beside the door. As Steve watched, a young man hopped out of the vehicle, black watch cap pulled low on his forehead and the collar of his blue jacket pulled up to his ears. A moment later the door opened with an icy gust of wind. Steve turned to watch.</p><p>Freddie came out of the back. “Bucky!” She beamed at the man and went to pull him into a hug. </p><p>“Don’t,” Bucky said. “I’m covered in snow.” But he took her into his arms anyway. </p><p>She stepped back. “Did George send you?”</p><p>“Mayor’s shut the town down for a couple of days. Until the snow stops,” Bucky said. He took off his cap, revealing a tousled mass of short, thick, dark wavy hair. “Dad sent me to take you home.” </p><p>“I figured he would,” Freddie said with a sweet smile. She wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll start shutting down and then we can go.” She looked over to where Steve was sitting and he dropped his gaze, trying to pretend he hadn’t been watching the exchange. She turned back to her son. “Come with me.”</p><p>They both disappeared through the door that probably led to the kitchen. Steve finished his pancakes and most of the bacon and was on his last swallow of coffee by the time they reappeared. To his surprise, the man ambled over and slid into the booth opposite Steve.</p><p>“Hey,” he said. He pulled off his right glove and stuck out his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.” </p><p>“Steve Rogers,” Steve said, returning the handshake. “Your mom’s food is really good.” </p><p>Bucky’s smile broadened. “You like it? Folks say she’s the best cook in town.” </p><p>“I’d believe it.” Steve smiled back. It was very easy to smile at Bucky with his bright grey eyes. He was around Steve’s age and height, with wide cheekbones and a straight nose. His strong jaw was covered in a dark layer of stubble that Steve wanted to feel beneath his fingers. Bucky was appealing, charming and incredibly handsome, and Steve suddenly realized he’d been holding his hand for a bit too long. He pulled away, blushing. </p><p>“How’s the bacon? Is it good?” Bucky asked. </p><p>“Very,” Steve said, popping another piece into his mouth. </p><p>“I’ve never tried it,” Bucky grinned. “Not here at least. My family’s Jewish and we’re barely kosher, but mom would kill me if I had some.”   </p><p>“I’m Catholic myself,” Steve said, because it seemed like the right thing to share. It immediately made him think of his uncle and therefore his mother, and how he was stuck three hours away from Ithaca. He frowned. </p><p>“Surely being Catholic can’t be that bad,” Bucky joked. </p><p>“What? Oh. I was just thinking about my uncle. He’s a priest in Ithaca. I was meant to visit him tonight.” Steve smiled, but he wasn’t sure it reached his eyes. His guts were churning with anxiety and guilt. He thought of the little bundle, lying cold and alone in the back seat. </p><p>“That’s too bad,” Bucky said sympathetically. “But I’m sure he’ll understand why you can’t make it.” </p><p>“He would,” Steve reluctantly agreed. “But I made a promise.” </p><p>“And you’ll keep your promise when the snow clears,” Bucky said. “My mom actually wanted me to ask where you were planning on staying tonight. Because she’ll be locking up soon and you can’t stay here.” </p><p>“I’m going to go to Ithaca.” Steve said. “Like I said.” </p><p>Bucky’s brow creased. “You’ve seen the snow out there, right?”</p><p>“Yeah. But it doesn’t change the fact that I have to get there.” </p><p>“You won’t make it,” Bucky said flatly. “Your car won’t even make the turn at the end of the road. You’ll be in the ditch and its freezing out there. You don’t want to take that kind of risk.” </p><p>Steve’s chest squeezed hot with anger. “Don’t tell me what to do.” </p><p>“You’re planning on trying to drive to <i>Ithaca</i> in a <i>storm,</i>” Bucky said sharply. “Clearly someone has to tell you, because you ain’t getting it right on your own!” </p><p>“Well then, why don’t you drive me?” Steve said. As soon as he vocalized the idea, he realized how good it was. Bucky’s truck was huge and clearly made for these kinds of storms. “You have a snow plow. Drive me to Ithaca. I’ll even pay you.” </p><p>Bucky made a face. “I’m not going to do that.” </p><p>“Why not?” Steve demanded. “You’re so worried about me driving myself, why wouldn’t you drive me there?”</p><p>“Because the roads aren’t safe for anyone!” Bucky snapped. “Including my truck, which is why I’m not going to drive you.” </p><p>“But you have a plow! And your truck is huge! Of course, we’d be safe!” Steve’s heart was pounding, but the ache in his chest had nothing to do with that. <i>Mom,</i> he thought. He couldn’t let her down. “Don’t you understand? I have to get there!” Somehow Steve had ended up standing and now his knuckles were resting on the table as he loomed over Bucky. </p><p>Bucky sat back in his seat, looking decidedly unimpressed. “No.” </p><p>“Fuck you,” Steve snarled. He grabbed his wallet and threw some money on the table before snatching his jacket and storming out. </p><p>The wind hit him immediately. It was cold enough to snuff out his anger, as suddenly he found himself battling against the storm. The snow stung his eyes and he groped, half-blinded towards his vehicle. The automatic door opener didn’t work, and his ice scraper was locked in the trunk, which meant he’d have to brush the snow off by hand. There was an inch of snow covering it from top to bottom and it took him forever to remove enough so he could find the lock. His fingers were numb by the time he got the door open. The inside of the car was freezing but at least he was out of the wind. He chafed his hands together, trying to warm them a little. His gloves were in his bag that he’d left in the trunk. <i>How’re they going to help you there?</i> He heard Freddie’s voice say in his ear. She wasn’t wrong.</p><p>There was no light penetrating the thick layer of snow on the windshield. It was like being in a small, icy cave. Gingerly, he touched the steering wheel. It was like gripping an icepack and the ache went right through Steve’s hands. He went to put the keys in the ignition, and realized the automatic light that illuminated the keyhole wasn’t on, which explained how dark it was. He frowned and pulled out his phone, using the flashlight to see where to insert his keys. </p><p>Steve turned the ignition. There was a grinding sound as the car attempted to turn over, then nothing. He tried again, and again and then hit the steering wheel in frustration. His battery had died in the cold. He was well and truly stuck. </p><p>“Fuck!” Tears welled up in Steve’s eyes. He was stuck in the freezing parking lot of a closing diner in God- knew-where Upstate New York. He wasn’t going to get to his uncle’s in time. He’d let his mother down. Again. He would never be able to make up for what he’d done. </p><p>He reached behind him and picked up the little bundle, cradling it to his chest. The cardboard packaging meant it wasn’t nearly as cold as the steering wheel had been, but it was still unpleasantly cool. He held it in his arms, wishing it offered comfort. He wiped a stray tear off his cheek. </p><p>There was a knock on the glass. </p><p>Steve started. He moved to open the window, then remembered they wouldn’t open without the battery. He shoved open the door instead.</p><p>Bucky and his mother were standing on the other side, both bundled up against the cold. </p><p>“You can’t stay here,” Bucky said. “Come on.” </p><p>He knew they were right. If he stayed in his car he’d probably freeze to death. Steve sighed. “Hold on a minute.” He got out of the car; the bundle still clutched to his chest. “Let me grab my things.”</p>
<hr/><p>It was an uncomfortable ride headed to…wherever they were going. </p><p>Bucky was driving and Freddie sat beside him, both watching the storm unfold in front of the vehicle. They were having a quiet conversation about Freddie’s day at the diner and Bucky’s day at work. It involved discussions of people and places that Steve had never heard about and Steve let the words roll over him like water.  </p><p>Steve had plenty of space in the back seat for his overnight bag, but he kept it on his lap. Even though Freddie had pulled her seat up, his legs were still tightly bent and pressed against the back of her seat. He was nearly six-foot-three. It was impossible for him to not need room.  </p><p>Every once in a while, Freddie would look back at him, like she wanted to bring him into the conversation, but something on his face must have kept her silent. He had no idea how he looked, but if it was half as wretched as he felt, he could see why she was leaving him alone. </p><p>Steve couldn’t see Bucky without leaning forward, so he sat back and watched the snow as it fell in thick clumps through the lights of the headlamps. He felt bad for what he said to Bucky in the restaurant. Bucky had only been trying to help, to keep him from dying in a ditch in the middle of a snow storm. It was pretty shitty of Steve to yell at him like he had. Bucky didn’t know about Steve’s promise. He couldn’t know what not getting to Ithaca would mean. He wanted to apologize to Bucky for being such a dick but it felt too hard to even start. He felt he’d been hollowed out and filled with the same freezing snow that fell outside the window. He was so tired. </p><p>He leaned his head back against the seat and let the movement of the vehicle and the soft murmur of Freddie and Bucky’s voices wash over him. His eyes closed. </p><p>Steve woke to a blast of cold air and Freddie gently shaking him by the shoulder. He’d been so out of it that he hadn’t felt the car come to a stop. </p><p>Steve sat up and rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long it’d taken them to drive from the diner, but it’d been one of the best naps he’d had since before his mom had gone to hospital. He’d forgotten what good sleep felt like.</p><p>“Time to get out,” Freddie said kindly. “We’re here.”</p><p>Steve obediently got out of the truck. It was stunningly cold and Steve was immediately more awake. They had parked in front of a large, brick farmhouse, with orange light glowing merrily through the windows. The porch was decorated with soft white bulbs and the whole place had the same cozy aura as the diner. Steve knew instantly where he was. He turned to Freddie. “This is your home.”   </p><p>“Welcome to casa Barnes,” Freddie said with a smile. “Now come on inside before you catch your death.” </p><p>“I can’t stay here,” Steve protested weakly as he followed Freddie to the front door. “This is your home, and it’s less than a week before Christmas!” </p><p>“We’re Jewish, remember? Hanukkah ended December 18.” Bucky glared at Steve as he fished a key out of his pants pocket.</p><p>Freddie must have seen the contrite look on Steve’s face because she patted his arm. “You’re fine,” she said to him as she shot Bucky a censoring look. “Don’t worry about staying with us for a few days.”  </p><p>“A few days?” Steve repeated as he followed them inside. He took off his shoes in the anteroom before continuing inside. “Surely it’ll clear up—” He stopped talking.</p><p>The anteroom led directly into the large, open great room, which was completely decorated for Christmas. There was a set of stairs off to the side, and real garlands with big red bows were looped around the banister of the stairs. The fireplace had five stockings hanging from it, with more garland above the mantel. A cedar wreath was centred on the wall over the fireplace, but the most impressive decoration was the Christmas tree.</p><p>The tree sat in a corner and was at least nine feet tall, and decorated from top to bottom in a bright collection of ornaments. Some glass, some ceramic, some plastic, and some handmade with popsicle sticks and glue. The whole thing looked like a set from a Hallmark movie, and Steve turned to look at Bucky, feeling strangely betrayed.</p><p>Bucky blushed. “Um. My dad really likes Christmas.” </p><p>“He was raised Anglican before giving it all up to marry a Jewish temptress he met at university,” Freddie said, laughing. “Now he’s the religious minority in the house, although you’d never know that come December 1st. Come on.” She let him further inside and manhandled him out of his coat, giving it and his bag to Bucky who disappeared back to the anteroom, and then up the stairs. She put her hands on her hips. “Can I get you anything?”</p><p>“No, thank you,” Steve demurred. He was still looking around the large room, noting the various pieces of art up on the walls, and the beautiful figurines, heirlooms and knickknacks on their shelves, along with what seemed like a whole library of books. He was startled out of his exploration by the sound of several pairs of small feet.</p><p>“Mom, you’re home!” a young woman, probably in her mid-teens, shrieked as she and another young teenage woman hurtled into the room and into their mother’s arms. They were both wearing pajamas and fuzzy slippers and they looked as warm and comfortable as the house felt.</p><p>“No point in staying open in this weather,” Freddie said, hugging both girls. “Looks like I’m going to be home for Christmas this year.” </p><p>The girls both let out more shrieks, this time for joy, and Steve couldn’t help but smile even while his heart was heavy in his chest. He’d never get to embrace his mother like that again. </p><p>“I see you brought us a guest.” A tall man who looked like an older version of Bucky came into the room. He gave his wife a tender kiss before coming over to shake Steve’s hand. “George Barnes.” </p><p>“Steve Rogers.” Steve returned his handshake. “Thanks for letting me stay.” </p><p>“The more the merrier,” George said. “Have you met our daughters? Thing One and Thing Two?” </p><p>“Dad!” the younger of the two girls wailed. “So embarrassing!” </p><p>“Hi,” the older one said, sticking out her hand. “I’m Rebecca, and this is Rachael. Nice to meet you.” She dimpled prettily. </p><p>Steve returned the smile and the handshake. Rachael looked more like Freddie, with sandy blond hair and green eyes. George and Rebecca on the other hand, looked like they were peas from the same pod, with the same grey-blue eyes and dark hair. Bucky looked most like them, but his hair was darker and thicker, and his eyes more silver than blue. He also had a squarer face to their more rounded ones, and he stood at least a head taller than his father. The girls were both stunning, but Bucky was definitely the best looking. </p><p>Too bad Steve had made sure Bucky wouldn’t like him.  </p><p><i>Maybe you shouldn’t have told him to fuck off?</i> Steve’s mind supplied helpfully. Steve cringed internally at the memory. He’d been so upset about not making it to Ithaca that he’d taken it out on Bucky. He really needed to apologize. </p><p>“Sit down.” George offered one of the armchairs to Steve. It was wide and comfortable in a soft, brown fabric. There were a few small areas of wear on the front of the armrests and their lived-in nature made Steve smile. “Don’t mind the holes,” George said ruefully. “We have two cats and three children, so we can’t have nice things.” </p><p>“The cats are the nice things, daddy!” Rachael said in a way that made it seem liked she’d repeated the words more than once. As if on cue, a small, short haired white cat with dark brown splotches came out from under the couch. Her eyes were huge and glinted pale blue. </p><p>“That one’s Cocoa,” Rebecca said. “She looks really cute but she’s totally horrible.” </p><p>Cocoa immediately started bumping Steve’s ankles, purring softly. “Horrible?” Steve bent down and scratched around her ears. She made an appreciative <i>mrrrr</i> sound and bumped his hand with her head. “She doesn’t seem like it.” </p><p>“Because you’re a boy,” Rachael sniffed. She’d sat down on the thick, wool rug on the floor. “She doesn’t like women.”</p><p>“We think she’s sexist,” Freddie said as she sat down beside George on the couch. He put his arm around her and she leaned into it, a picture of marital happiness.</p><p>“I think you’re just jealous she doesn’t like you as much as she likes me,” George said to Rachael. He turned to Steve. “It’s because I rescued her.”</p><p>“She got into daddy’s truck when he was parked at a fire.” Rebecca leaned forward in her armchair. “He didn’t know she was there until he got home!” </p><p>“Volunteer firefighter,” George said. “And we were attending an old barn on an abandoned property. Who knows how long she’d been there?”</p><p>“She was so small and sickly,” Rachael picked up the story. “And so cute! We made daddy keep her.” </p><p>“They didn’t make me,” George said. “I wanted to.” </p><p>“There’ll be a cat in my house over my dead body!” Freddie said in a deep voice. She laughed. </p><p>“I wasn’t a cat person, okay?” George smiled at Steve. “But that’s what life is for, right? Learning and growing.” </p><p>“Wow. Sage,” Rebecca said, with only a hint of sarcasm. </p><p>George rolled his eyes. “That you for the support, young grasshopper.” </p><p>“What about you, Steve?” Rachael asked. “Are you a cat person?”</p><p>Steve straightened in his chair, which caused Cocoa to <i>meep</i> and jump into his lap, continuing to purr loudly. “I guess I am now?” </p><p>Freddie laughed. “You can keep her, if you like.” </p><p>“No one gets Cocoa,” Bucky said as he came into the room. He’d changed out of the jeans he’d been wearing into a pair of comfy looking sweatpants and a long-sleeve t-shirt that was just clingy enough to show off how well sculpted his body was. Steve’s eyes flicked to Bucky’s left hand, where his ring finger and pinky were missing from the first joints, and he immediately looked away. Bucky sat on the other side of his father on the couch, but not before he caught Steve looking. Steve’s face heated and he focussed on the cat who had curled up on his thighs, still purring. </p><p>“Alpine’s your cat,” Rebecca said. “Steve can have Cocoa.” </p><p>“No,” Bucky said with a frown. But the twinkle in his eye made it clear he knew his sister was joking. </p><p>“So, Steve,” George said. “What brings you to New Sokovia?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Rachael said. “No one wants to come here.” </p><p>“I was actually heading to Ithaca.” Steve glanced at Bucky as he said it. Bucky wasn’t even looking at him. </p><p>“Ithaca?” George repeated. “You have family there?”</p><p>“An uncle,” Bucky said. “He’s meant to be there tonight.” He said it casually, like he didn’t really care, but Steve could see the way tension had tightened his shoulders. He was still angry at what Steve had said. </p><p>“Tonight?” George’s mouth creased. “I hope he knows you’re not driving in this.” </p><p>“I texted him already. When Bucky was driving me here. It’s really nice of you all. To give me a place to stay.” He glanced at Bucky again, hoping he’d see the apologetic look in his eyes. Bucky didn’t meet his gaze. </p><p>“You’re not the first waif mom’s brought home,” Rachael said. “She’s always bringing people here during the winter. We once had a family of five stay with us. And a dog!” </p><p>“God didn’t put us on this Earth to not help where we can,” Freddie said. </p><p>“<i>Tikkun Olam</i>,” Bucky said softly to his mother. His eyes crinkled. </p><p>“Tikkun Olam?” Steve repeated. </p><p>“It means, ‘repair the world’ in Hebrew,” Rebecca said. “Us Jews are all about social justice.” </p><p>“It’s about doing what you can for others,” Freddie clarified gently. “We may not go to <i>Shul</i> that often, but we try to help wherever we can.” </p><p>“That’s…that’s beautiful,” Steve said, moved by her simple speech. He looked over at Bucky again, and this time the other man didn’t look away. “My mother was like that,” Steve continued after a moment. “She always wanted to help people. She used to tell me I should leave the world a better place than when I found it. Whenever I could.” </p><p>“Sounds like a woman after my own heart,” Freddie said with a smile. Her eyes were knowing though, like she’d heard Steve’s use of the past tense, and understood.</p><p>“Where’s your mom now? With your uncle?” Rachael asked. </p><p>“Uh, no.” Steve started. He had to clear his throat against the sudden thickness. He thought about the small bundle where he’d left it, safe, in his overnight bag Bucky had taken upstairs. He cleared his throat again, not trusting himself to speak. His eyes flicked to Bucky’s without meaning to. Bucky was gazing at him thoughtfully and with sympathy. It was nearly Steve’s undoing. He had to look away. </p><p>George and Freddie exchanged a small, speaking look. “Bedtime for anyone younger than twenty-three,” George said with a clap of his hands. He stood.</p><p>“What? Why?” Rachael whined. “There’s no school for <i>weeks!</i>”</p><p>“Because it’s nearly one a.m. and you’re only fourteen and you need sleep. You too, Rebecca,” Bucky said before the elder girl could complain. He got to his feet and eyed his sister. Rebecca pouted but stood up as well, pulling her sister up with her. </p><p>“Fine,” she groused. “But you’d better make us pancakes tomorrow.” </p><p>“Pancakes, I promise.” Bucky grinned at her. </p><p>“With Micky Mouse ears!” Rachael said excitedly. “And chocolate for eyes!” </p><p>Bucky laughed. “Okay, fine. But they won’t taste as good as mom’s.” </p><p>Rachael seemed to consider that. She turned to her mother. “Will you make us pancakes tomorrow, <i>please?</i>” </p><p>“Yes. As long as you go to bed now,” Freddie said, rising to her feet. “Because the rest of us are turning in. Bucky, why don’t you show Steve where he’ll be sleeping?”  </p><p>Bucky nodded. “C’mon,” he said. He offered Steve his hand.</p><p>Steve took it, recognizing it as the gesture of reconciliation it was. His hand was firm and warm in his, and the touch sent a sparkle of sensation through him. He let Bucky pull him to standing and felt a little sad when he immediately loosened his grip. “Thanks,” Steve said to him. He meant for more than the hand up.</p><p>“Sure.” Bucky’s smiled. “This way.” He led Steve up the stairs.</p>
<hr/><p>Steve sat on the bed in the guest room. It was a double bed, decorated with a homemade quilt in calming shades of blue and grey that matched the colour of the walls. The curtains, in the same blue as the quilt, were pulled back to let in the daylight. They hadn’t been closed yet, even though it was full night, but Steve wasn’t sure he would. The one window was almost wall-to-wall and showed the endlessly falling snowflakes, glistening like glass in the soft light of the house. It was beautiful and serene and the type of room you could relax in: warm and inviting no matter the temperature outside. Steve relaxed just from being there. He felt at home. </p><p><i>Home.</i> He wondered how long it’d been since he felt that. Not for a while, he was sure. Sam had moved to D.C. to be with Natasha, and even his boss had relocated Stark Industries’ headquarters out of Manhattan further north to Esopus. He’d been invited to move with them, but couldn’t. Not when he had to take care of his mom. He hadn’t even thought about moving after she died, even though the tiny apartment he’d shared with her in Brooklyn hadn’t felt like home for a long time. He missed having a place where he felt like he belonged. </p><p>“Let me know if you need any more blankets or anything,” Bucky said. He was leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed, missing fingers visible. Steve forced himself not to look. “The furnace works fine but the house is old. Sometimes it gets cold near the windows.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Steve looked up at him where he was standing by the doorway, the curves of his face brushed with the shadows from the hallway light behind him. He was so beautiful it almost hurt. It <i>did</i> hurt: a low-level ache in Steve’s chest of want. He had no idea if Bucky liked men that way; had no idea if Bucky liked <i>him</i> after the way he’d behaved. He dropped his gaze, ashamed. </p><p>“You got a toothbrush? Because we always have a few extra. New, I promise. We don’t reuse them from the people mom brings home.” Bucky laughed, a light infectious sound.</p><p>Steve laughed with him. “You mean the other waifs from the restaurant?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Bucky stepped further into the room. “We’ve always had other people joining us for the holidays.” </p><p>Steve thought about the Christmases he and his mother used to share. How it was just the two of them opening presents and enjoying each other’s company on one of the few days when neither of them had to work. The memories were melancholy at best, tinged with the loneliness he and his mother both felt but never spoken about. He wondered what it would have been like to be part Bucky’s family’s celebrations, surrounded by so many people. He wished he could ask to stay, but the bundle in his bag was still there. He wouldn’t let her down. “That sounds like fun.” </p><p>“It’s been pretty great, actually,” Bucky said with a smile. “It’s nice to share our holidays with others. We’ve made some good friends because of it. My sisters have friends all over the States.” </p><p>“Your sisters seem really sweet,” Steve said honestly. </p><p>“They are.” Bucky’s smile broadened. “The absolute best a guy could ever ask for. I’d die for them. For all of them. Really.”</p><p>“You all seem really close,” Steve said with a small pang of longing for his mother. They had been really close, too. </p><p>“We are,” Bucky agreed. “And I’m damn lucky to be part of their family. Anyway, I should probably let you get ready for bed.” He turned to leave.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Steve said quickly before Bucky had gone out the door. “For yelling at you in the diner. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.” </p><p>Bucky turned around and came back into the room, sitting on the bed beside him. “It’s okay,” he said, voice gentle. “I think I get it now.”</p><p>“You do, huh?” Steve said with a smile he hoped looked more real than it felt. His heart was pounding, and not just from Bucky’s proximity. </p><p>“Yeah, I think I do,” Bucky said. “And when you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here.” </p><p>The kindness in Bucky’s eyes was too much. Steve looked away, blinking back tears. “Thanks,” he said, voice rough. “But I’m fine.” </p><p>“I can see that,” Bucky said even though they both knew it was a lie. He leaned his shoulder into Steve’s; a gentle pressure. It was comforting and electrifying all at once. Steve was abruptly hyper-aware of Bucky: the firmness of his muscles, his strength and warmth. Steve turned his head and they were suddenly mere inches apart. So close, if Steve leaned forward just slightly, their lips would touch. His heart was a bird in a cage, beating its wings against the bars. </p><p>Bucky’s gaze dropped from Steve’s eyes to his mouth and back again, a faint blush touching his cheeks. “I should go,” he said huskily. He didn’t move.</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice a whisper. <i>Am I going to do this?</i> he thought, excited and scared at the same time. <i>Do I want to do this?</i> He leaned in, his body answering before his mind had a chance. </p><p>“<i>Bucky!</i>” Rachael screamed, “<i>there’s a spider in my room!</i>”</p><p>Bucky pulled away, laughing. “Duty calls.” </p><p>“Do you need help?” Steve asked, both relieved the spell was broken and reluctant to let Bucky go. </p><p>“No, I got this,” Bucky said from the doorway, left hand on the frame. “Coming!” he shouted down the hallway before looking back at Steve. “Have a good night.” </p><p>“You too,” Steve said. Bucky smiled at him, tapped the doorframe with his remaining fingers, and left. </p><p>Steve lay back on the bed, stomach fluttering. <i>Did that really just happen?</i> Did he really almost just kiss the son of the family who had literally brought him in out of the cold? And was that a good thing or bad?</p><p><i>Mom,</i> he thought, feeling the wave of grief roll through him. He wished he could ask her for her opinion. He wished he’d know what she would say. He got up and went to his bag where it rested on the floor, pulling out the small package and holding it against his chest. </p><p>He sat back down on the bed, heart aching and heavy. <i>I’m sorry,</i> he thought. <i>I’m sorry I let you down.</i> He wiped away his tears.</p>
<hr/><p>He was woken the next morning by the sound of a small fist knocking on his door.</p><p>“Steve!” Rebecca or Rachael called; Steve wasn’t sure. “Breakfast is ready! You can come down in your pajamas but you have to wear pants!” The young woman giggled and then there was the sound of little feet running. Steve got up. He shivered in the cold, having slept in his boxers and nothing else. </p><p>He was surprised to see the day was bright, despite the clouds and the constant snow. He checked his phone and realized it was well past ten. He’d been asleep for over ten hours, the longest he’d slept since he could remember. He was still groggy though, probably a by-product of having a decent night’s sleep for the first time in months, so when someone knocked on the door he called, “come in,” without thinking about it. </p><p>“Oh,” Bucky said, surprise colouring that short word. </p><p>Steve turned around to see Bucky standing in the doorway, wearing the same long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants from the night before. Bucky’s gaze went from Steve’s eyes down his naked torso to his bare toes and back again, pink staining his cheeks. </p><p>“I’ll let you get changed,” Bucky said and closed the door, but not before Steve saw the flush on his cheeks, or the way his eyes flashed as he looked at him.</p><p>“Sorry!” Steve called to the closed door, face heating. He quickly grabbed his bag and pulled out his sleep pants and a sweatshirt, his embarrassment easing as he put on clothes. He hoped Rebecca was telling him true things when she said he could come down in pajamas. He wanted to take a shower before he got dressed, but he wasn’t sure what the protocol was, or who had first dibs. </p><p>And, he admitted to himself in the quiet of the room, he didn’t want to wait to see Bucky again. </p><p>He wished he knew if that was okay, but he had no one to ask. </p><p><i>Mom,</i> he thought sadly. He’d never be able to ask her again.<br/>
Brunch was indeed Micky Mouse pancakes with chocolate chips, made expertly by Freddie. The meal was a joyous and boisterous occasion, with the three siblings ribbing each other every chance they got and the parents watching it all with indulgent smiles. It was clear that they were a tight knit, loving family who truly enjoyed each other’s company even while they made space for Steve at the table. </p><p>“What do you do in New York City?” Rachael asked him when there was a break in the teasing. “Are you a real estate mogul or owner of a five-star restaurant?”</p><p>“Neither,” Steve laughed. “I’m a graphic designer. I work for Stark Industries.” </p><p>“Didn’t they just move Upstate?” George asked as he served himself more blueberries. “That can’t be an easy commute from New York.” </p><p>“I’ve been working from home for a while now,” Steve said. “It’s rare that I have to go to the office for meetings.” </p><p>“You don’t go into an office?” Rachael titled her head. “Aren’t you lonely working at home?”</p><p>Steve’s smile froze on his face, the chunk of pancake he was chewing suddenly tasteless in his mouth. He thought of his small apartment, the bedroom that was permanently empty. “It can be,” he said. “I’m getting used to it.” </p><p>“I wouldn’t mind being able to work from home sometimes,” George said brightly, clearly trying to dispel the melancholy that had settled over the table. “Going to the university for office hours sucks in the winter.” </p><p>“We could move closer,” Freddie said, like it was an old discussion.</p><p>“But then we wouldn’t live here,” George replied with a smile, “where everyone’s happy.” Freddie smiled back; deep love reflected in her eyes. Steve had to look away.</p><p>“What about you?” Steve said to Bucky after the silence had dragged on slightly too long. “What do you do?”</p><p>“I mow people’s lawns,” Bucky said with a shrug, “and plow their driveways in the winter.” </p><p>Rebecca scowled at him before turning to Steve. “That’s not true. He actually owns his own landscaping company. He has seven employees!” </p><p>“He went to school for landscape architecture,” Rachael said with pride. “He even won an award!” </p><p>Bucky’s cheeks pinked at their praise. “C’mon guys,” he muttered, “Steve doesn’t want to hear that.” </p><p>“Bucky is our greatest success story,” Freddie said with a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and love in her eyes. “And we are so proud of him.” </p><p> “We know, Mom.” Rebecca sighed dramatically. “You love Bucky best.” </p><p>“He’s definitely the favourite,” Rachael whispered loudly to Steve, like she was sharing some great secret.</p><p>Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m the favourite child over sixteen.” </p><p>“That is true,” George said. “Bucky is our favourite boy child. You are our favourite girls.” </p><p>Rachael wiggled happily in her seat. “I knew I was the favourite!” </p><p>“Under sixteen,” Rebecca corrected her, then laughed. It was obvious that being the ‘favourite’ was a long-standing joke that everyone was in on. The siblings seemed completely content and secure in their parents’ love, even while Bucky had been given such prolific praise.</p><p>“Greatest success story?” Steve asked Freddie. “Why? What did Bucky do?” He was expecting them to tell him that Bucky had overcome a learning disability, or got a scholarship, or even survived the accident that had taken two of his fingers. He was not expecting what Freddie said next.</p><p>“He stayed alive,” she said, looking straight into Bucky’s eyes as she spoke. “He lived.”</p>
<hr/><p>The snow crunched satisfyingly under Steve’s boots as he and Bucky walked along the road. The snow was falling softer now: light and airy like in every Christmas movie, instead of the hard, driving storm of the day before. It was lovely outside, cold enough to tingle but not bitterly so. The sun was even managing to peep between the clouds, dappling the Earth with beams of sunlight that sparkled against the newly-fallen snow. </p><p>Steve looked out of the corner of his eye to where Bucky was walking beside him, hands tucked into his pockets. He wished he could be holding Bucky’s hand as they walked along. He wondered if it would be wrong of him to ask. </p><p>Bucky turned to look at him with a smile, the blue of his eyes more silver against the winter colours surrounding them. His cheeks and lips had pinked in the cold. He looked delectable and perfect, and Steve would’ve given almost anything to be able to reach out and touch him, to feel his lips warm under his own. But he did nothing but smile back.</p><p>“It’s beautiful out here,” he said, admiring the tall, snow-covered trees on either side of the roadway, with houses just visible in between. </p><p>“Yup,” Bucky agreed readily. “Paradise on Earth.” His smile turned wistful, like he was remembering something both painful and good at the same time. It made Steve think of what Freddie had said before, and how he’d never heard the ending of that story. </p><p>“Your mother said you were her greatest success? Because you lived?” Steve said, hoping it was okay for him to bring it up. </p><p>“Oh, that,” Bucky said with fondness. “She makes it more of a big deal than it was.” </p><p>“Kind of like you describing owning your own company as ‘mowing other people’s lawns?’” Steve said with air quotes. “I’m not sure you’re the credible one here.” </p><p>Bucky laughed. “Okay, fine. You got me. But seriously, it’s not a big thing.” </p><p>“You don’t have to tell me,” Steve said, recognizing Bucky’s reluctance. “We’re practically strangers. I get it.” He frowned as he said it, wishing he and Bucky could be more than strangers. More than friends, really. But he didn’t know how to make that happen. He didn’t even know if he should. </p><p>“We’re friends,” Bucky said, as if answering Steve’s thoughts. “Or at least on our way to being.” He bumped Steve’s shoulder with his own, warm and inviting. </p><p>Steve bumped him back, grinning broadly. “Good. Because I’d like to be friends.” </p><p>“Good,” Bucky said back. “’Cause we are.” </p><p>They walked along in silence, listening to the creak of the trees and the rustle of wind through the branches. The snow kept falling, easy and persistent. It felt like they were the only two people left in the world. </p><p>“You know I’m adopted,” Bucky said into the silence. </p><p>“I didn’t,” Steve said, surprised. He thought of how much Bucky looked like his parents, especially George. “I honestly wouldn’t’ve guessed.” </p><p>“That’s pretty nice to hear, actually,” Bucky said. “But I ran away from my biological parents’ home when I was fourteen. The same age Rachael is now. I had vague plans of going to California, or anywhere, really. I just knew I couldn’t stay where I was.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Steve said after Bucky hadn’t spoken for a few minutes. “I’m sorry things were so bad you had to run away.” </p><p>“I knew I was gay by the time I was seven years old. Which didn’t go so well in my conservative Christian family. I overheard them say they wanted to send me for conversion therapy.” He shook his head. “No way in hell was I going to do that.” </p><p>“Jesus,” Steve breathed. “Bucky, that’s awful!”</p><p>“Yeah.” Bucky nodded. “I left that night. It was the end of January and fucking cold, and I sure as fuck didn’t plan well. A truck driver saw me walking along the highway some time after midnight and took pity on me. He brought me to the diner’s driveway, gave me ten bucks and told me to go inside.”</p><p>“Wait,” Steve said, thinking of the drive where he’d nearly rolled his car. “That thing’s got to be over a mile long!” </p><p>“I was hypothermic and frostbitten by the time I reached the diner. You get a bit squirrely when you get really cold, did you know that?” Bucky asked conversationally as if he wasn’t telling Steve the worst story he’d ever heard. “I took off my hat and my gloves because I started feeling hot instead of cold. Luckily, I had long hair at the time, so my ears didn’t freeze, but my hand did.” </p><p>“Your left hand,” Steve breathed. </p><p>“You may have noticed that I’m missing two fingers. I’m lucky it’s not worse than that. For a while the doctors thought I was going to lose my whole hand.” </p><p>“Jesus,” Steve whispered. He wanted to pull Bucky in for a hug, but Bucky was still walking with his hands in his pockets, so Steve made no move to touch him. </p><p>“I collapsed from the cold just a few feet from the door of the diner, but the snow was so bad that I was covered. I fell on my right hand, which is why it was spared. I was lucky, though. Freddie had some sort of sixth sense about it and she came outside into the snow for no reason. She found me there on the ground. Brought me to hospital. She’s been my mother ever since.” </p><p>“Jesus,” Steve said again. “Bucky…I don’t even know what to say.” </p><p>“I’m really lucky,” Bucky repeated, like he actually believed it. “George comes from old money and his family is really well connected. I don’t know what he did, but they became my foster parents while I was still in hospital. They adopted me two years later. The best sixteenth birthday present I could ever wish for.” </p><p>“So that’s what Freddie meant,” Steve said, “about you being alive.” </p><p>“Oh no, it wasn’t about surviving the storm,” Bucky said. “It was how fucking suicidal I got after that. And the years of therapy it took it get me down off the ledge of self-loathing. I’m good now, though. Promise.” </p><p>“I’m so glad,” Steve said, meaning it. His heart was stuttering in his chest with the thought that Bucky’s light could have been snuffed from the world before they’d ever met. It was terrifying. </p><p>“Me, too,” Bucky said. He finally turned to look at Steve, eyes bright. “There’s a lot of things I would’ve missed.” </p><p>Steve smiled back, his chest easing. Bucky was here. He was alive, and he was so beautiful. Both inside and out. “I’m happy we met.” </p><p>“Me, too,” Bucky said again. He reached out his mittened left hand and took Steve’s right. Steve gripped his hand back, feeling the stubs of Bucky’s fingers through the cloth. He was deeply humbled that Bucky trusted him this much. </p><p>“Thank you,” Steve said. “For telling me that.” </p><p>Bucky shrugged. “Freddie makes a bigger deal out of it than it is.”</p><p>Steve laughed. “Well, she is your mother.”</p>
<hr/><p>“You have to let the potatoes drain before you add the flour, otherwise they’ll be too wet and won’t cook properly. Squeeze them in the cheese cloth. Like this.” </p><p>Steve picked up the sopping bundle of shredded potato and squeezed it over the sink like Freddie had demonstrated, watching as the pinky-white liquid flowed down the drain. </p><p>“The Russians make vodka out of potato juice,” Freddie told him with a grin. “I’ve always thought we should try it.” </p><p>Steve laughed. “I’m game.” </p><p>“After you squeeze them, we’ll put them in the cloth in a bowl overnight with a space on the bottom and let them drain,” Freddie continued. “So they’d be dry enough to make the <i>latkes</i> tomorrow.” </p><p>“I’ve never had latkes,” Steve confessed. “What are they like?”</p><p>“And you call yourself a New Yorker?” Freddie teased. “They’re a savoury potato pancake that’s usually fried in oil, but we bake them to try to make them a bit healthier. Oil’s more traditional though, and I’ll usually do a batch in oil when we’re celebrating Hanukkah.” </p><p>“I know that part,” Steve said. “It’s because of the oil needed to rededicate the temple after the Greeks desecrated it. The oil lasted for eight days instead of one.” </p><p>“That’s right.” Freddie beamed at him. “And so, now a big part of Hanukkah is to fry all the food in oil, which honestly? I think is to ensure none of us are healthy enough to fight off the Greeks if they ever return. How did you know that?”</p><p>“My mom’s friends.” Steve’s smile grew brittle. He hadn’t seen any of his mother’s friends from the hospital since her funeral. Probably because he hadn’t responded to their calls or texts. It was hard to know what to say to people who only knew you because of someone who wasn’t around anymore.</p><p>“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Freddie said quietly. “That must be very hard at this time of year.” </p><p>Steve nodded; jaw clenched tight. “How much longer do I need to squeeze them?”</p><p>“Until nothing’s coming out,” Freddie said, and then: “tell me about being a graphic designer for Stark Industries. What’s it like working there?”</p><p>Steve sighed, relieved that Freddie had so readily changed the subject. He really didn’t want to talk about his mom. “Crazy, but really cool. Tony always has these projects on the go, and you’d be surprised how much art goes into the production and design of his technologies. I’m constantly being called into meetings to make concept art about the latest gadget he wants to create.”</p><p>Freddie was looking at him with open curiosity. “Tell me more about all of that.” </p><p>So, Steve did. They talked all the way through preparation for Christmas eve dinner, as well as several dishes Freddie wanted to get ready for the party planned for Christmas day. Freddie was incredibly easy to talk to, with an intense, non-judgemental curiosity that made him feel like she was really paying attention. But she was also tactful enough to realize when he needed to change the subject. She was, he realized, a particularly good mom. </p><p>“I’m glad you like to cook,” Freddie said as she wiped a smear of flour onto her cheek in an attempt to wipe some off. “Bucky will cook with me, but it’s obvious he doesn’t really enjoy it. Rebecca only likes to bake. Rachael’s the only one that likes it, but she’s out with her brother helping to plow driveways today. Bucky needs to do it before the big plows come through tomorrow or his customers will have so much snow at the end of their driveways, they won’t be able to leave.”  </p><p>“I’m happy to help,” Steve said honestly. He’d always found cooking relaxing and fun and a great way to bond with his mother on the days when she wasn’t on shift. “Sharing a kitchen again. It’s nice.” Freddie’s eyes flashed her understanding, but she didn’t say anything. “How’d you meet George?” Steve asked, as much out of curiosity as a need to not feel the weight of Freddie’s sympathetic gaze. </p><p>Freddie laughed. “University, like I said. We met in first year history. I thought he was a dick, and he wasn’t even remotely Jewish, but he won me over with his charm. He converted the year Rebecca was born. On his own. He didn’t even tell me until the Rabbi announced it during <i>Shabbat</i>.”</p><p>Steve smiled at the story. “I think Bucky thought I was a dick when we first me, too,” he confessed. </p><p>“He sure did,” Freddie agreed with a chuckle. “But now? I think he likes you just fine.” </p><p>“Really?” Steve said with far too much eagerness. He blushed. </p><p>“Pretty sure,” Freddie agreed. Her smile slipped. “Just…don’t hurt him, okay?”</p><p>“I won’t,” Steve said immediately. He thought of the package in his bag upstairs and the promise he still had to keep. “Besides, I’m leaving as soon as the snow clears. I won’t be around long enough.” For some reason saying it out loud made his chest hurt, even though it was true.</p><p>“I’m sure you won’t,” she said in a way that made Steve think she didn’t really believe it. “But be gentle with him, anyway.” </p><p>“I’ll be gentle,” Steve said, unsure why she would ask. He was leaving for Ithaca as soon as he could. There was no way Bucky would get hurt.</p>
<hr/><p>“What’s the name for the eve of Christmas Eve?” Rachael asked. </p><p>“The eve of Christmas Eve,” Rebecca said. “Duh.” </p><p>They were all sitting around the large table in the great room, eating dinner. Freddie and George had made a pot roast with the latkes she and Steve had prepared the day before, and it was one of the most delicious things Steve had ever eaten. The snow was still falling outside, but it was now only occasional, the storm finally coming to an end. </p><p>“Plows should be out tomorrow,” George said, following Steve’s gaze outside the window. “You should be able to make it to Ithaca before Christmas after all.” </p><p>“Noooo,” both Rebecca and Rachael wailed. </p><p>“He needs to stay!” Rachael said. “It’s tradition!” </p><p>“Yeah,” Rebecca said. “It’s not Christmas if we don’t have a waif from the diner!” </p><p>Steve laughed at that. “I’m hardly a waif.” </p><p>“But it won’t be the same without you,” Rachael said, green eyes wide with sadness.</p><p>“He has family waiting for him,” Freddie admonished the girls gently. “Don’t make him feel bad for wanting to be with them.” </p><p>“He’s part of our family now.” Rebecca pouted. </p><p>“You have to stay!” Rachael wailed again. She latched onto Steve’s arm, preventing him from bringing his fork to his mouth. “Bucky will be so sad if you leave!” </p><p>Steve immediately met Bucky’s gaze. “Would you? Be sad?” He’d meant it as a joke, but it didn’t quite come out that way. He wasn’t sure he wanted to leave, either. <i>You promised your mother,</i> he reminded himself sharply. What kind of son would he be if he didn’t keep that promise? How many times would he let her down?</p><p>“Yeah,” Bucky said simply, his grey eyes soft. “It’s kind of nice having you around.” </p><p>Rebecca and Rachael shared a smirking look. “You need to stay,” Rachael said, like it was the last word on the subject. </p><p>It wasn’t. “Girls!” George said sharply. “Steve will be going to see his family tomorrow, stop harassing him.” </p><p>“Yes dad,” they both mumbled, eyes on their plates. </p><p>“It’s okay,” Steve said, not wanting them to get in trouble on his behalf. “I’ll come back. I promise.” </p><p>The girls perked up immediately. “For Christmas?” Rachael asked.</p><p>“Maybe,” Steve said quickly, before George could tone them up again. He glanced at Bucky as he said it.</p><p>“I’d like that,” Bucky said, holding his gaze. </p><p>A slow smile spread across Steve’s face. “Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”</p>
<hr/><p>“You can talk about it, if you want,” Bucky said.</p><p>They were sitting on the couch together in the living room in front of the fireplace. Bucky had started a fire and now the logs were burning merrily, popping and crackling, spreading the warm orange glow throughout the room. The rest of the lights were off. Freddie and George had gone to bed a few minutes before, Rebecca and Rachael even before that. They were alone.</p><p>Steve started at Bucky’s quiet words but didn’t turn to look at him, staring at the fire instead. “What do you mean?” he said, even though he knew what Bucky meant.  </p><p>“Your story,” Bucky said. “The reason that you ended up in the diner in the middle of a snowstorm four days before Christmas. Alone.” </p><p>Steve winced at Bucky’s choice of words. “Not much to tell.” </p><p>“And you laughed at me for saying I mow other people’s lawns,” Bucky said with a smile. He took a sip of his scotch before resting it back on the side table, but he didn’t say anything else.</p><p>Steve thought of the little package upstairs, safe in his bag. He thought of the word <i>alone</i> and how much it fit. He sighed. “I don’t want to dump it on you.” </p><p>“I’m asking because I want to hear it,” Bucky said gently. “You’re not dumping it on me if I’m asking.” </p><p>Steve shifted uncomfortably on the couch. He wanted to tell Bucky, wanted to tell <i>someone</i> what he’d been going through. But at the same time, he didn’t. Bucky had lived through so much in his life, had needed to survive so many terrible things. What did Steve really have to complain about? Having a mother who loved him? “It’s really nothing,” Steve said. </p><p>“I doubt that,” Bucky said, “but it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. I just hope that there’s someone you can tell. I don’t want you to have to carry this on your own.” </p><p>“My best friend moved to D.C. to be with his girlfriend. Well, I guess fiancée now,” Steve said. “But we still talk.” </p><p>“And you’re talking to him?” </p><p>“Not really,” Steve admitted. “He’s got a whole life now. He doesn’t need my shit.” </p><p>“Maybe he’d want to hear it. Being that you’re best friends.” Bucky’s tone was light, but Steve could hear the very mild rebuke in it. And Steve knew he was right: Sam would want to hear him.<br/>
“I don’t know where to start.” Steve twisted his fingers together, head down. </p><p>“Well, the next time you call your best friend and he asks you how you’re doing, maybe instead of saying ‘fine,’ tell him the truth,” Bucky said. “That might work.” </p><p>Steve chuffed out a laugh at Bucky’s sardonic tone. “That sounds possible.” </p><p>“I’m a genius,” Bucky said smugly. He lifted up his arm in open invitation, and Steve scootched in until he was resting against Bucky’s chest, feeling the hard muscle against his back, the side of his head resting against Bucky’s jaw. Bucky sighed in contentment. He turned his head and planted a light kiss on Steve’s temple. Something that Steve could easily interpret as a gesture of a friend, if he wanted to.</p><p>He didn’t want to.</p><p>He turned to face Bucky, rising up on his knees on the couch. Moving slow enough to project what he was doing, he cupped Bucky’s face. His stubble was rough beneath Steve’s fingertips, soft and prickly and jolting like electricity through Steve’s body. </p><p>Their eyes met, and held. And for a moment, it was like they were suspended in time, the only two people left in the world. “Kiss me,” Bucky breathed. </p><p>Steve did. He moulded his mouth across Bucky’s, marvelling at how soft Bucky’s lips were; how warm. Bucky surged forward. He tangled his fingers in Steve’s hair, pulling him closer. Steve moaned and Bucky took it for the invitation it was, slipping his tongue inside. </p><p>Steve straddled Bucky’s hips, feeling Bucky’s erection through the cloth of his sweatpants. His own erection was pressing hard against the fabric of his jeans, straining against the zipper. Steve let his hands roam from Bucky’s face, across his broad shoulders and down his sides. Everywhere he touched was lean, sculpted muscle, far too hidden underneath Bucky’s clothes. Steve moved his hands to Bucky’s waist, and then gently slipped them inside Bucky’s shirt. </p><p>Bucky shuddered and gasped out a laugh. “Your hands are cold.” </p><p>“Let me warm them,” Steve said breathlessly, and then he was kissing Bucky again, devouring him. His mouth tasted a little bit like scotch and a lot like strawberries. It was a taste Steve would associate with Bucky forever. </p><p>Bucky’s skin was warm, almost hot where Steve was touching him. He could feel the ridge of muscle and the edges of bone. Strength and beauty beneath his hands. Steve was panting, his cock hard and aching. He kissed Bucky harder, pressing their erections together and rocking his hips. It was impossible to get the right kind of friction through all their clothes.</p><p>“Wait,” Bucky said, breathless. “Wait.” </p><p>Steve immediately stopped, leaning back on his heels so that he wasn’t touching Bucky any more. His whole body was singing with arousal, but Bucky said wait, so he was. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing, nothing,” Bucky said, an edge of desperation to his voice. “It’s just…I have condoms and lube, and a bed in my room?” He looked at Steve through his eyelashes, sexy and vulnerable all at once.</p><p>Steve’s heart skipped a beat as he realized what Bucky was asking him. “You want to have sex?”</p><p>“We don’t have to,” Bucky said quickly. “I was really enjoying making out with you. This is great! We don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want.” </p><p>Steve licked his lips. What <i>did</i> he want? He wanted Bucky. He knew that for sure. But he was leaving for Ithaca on Christmas Eve and then going back to New York. Despite what he’d promised Bucky’s sisters, he really didn’t think he’d be able to see Bucky and his family again. </p><p>But he really wanted to be with Bucky.</p><p>“It has to be just sex though,” Steve said, heart pounding. “This isn’t the start of a relationship. It can’t be. I…I just want to have sex. With you.” </p><p>Bucky blinked. “You just want a friends-with-benefits thing?”</p><p>It was so tempting to think of Bucky as being his friend, but Steve knew that couldn’t happen, either. New York was too far away. It would be too hard. He barely called Sam as it was since he’d moved to D.C. The likelihood of him and Bucky being able to stay friends was almost as remote as them becoming lovers. “No,” he said finally. “I mean just this once. Tonight.” </p><p>Bucky sat up, creating a small distance between himself and Steve. “You don’t even think we can be friends?”</p><p>“I live too far away,” Steve said. “New York is—”</p><p>“Maybe two hours from here. Less,” Bucky said. “We could make it work.” </p><p>Steve was shaking his head even before Bucky had finished speaking. “No. It’s too far. We’ll never see each other, and then you’ll leave and it’ll—”</p><p>“I’ll leave?” Bucky interrupted him. “You’re the one saying a relationship wouldn’t work!” </p><p>“I don’t think it can,” Steve said simply. “Our lives are too different.” </p><p>“Wow. Okay.” Bucky rubbed his face with his hands. The missing digits from his left one glaringly obvious even in the low light. “I thought we had something good happening here.” </p><p><i>We do have something good!</i> Steve wanted to tell him. “I’m sorry,” he said instead. </p><p>“I’m half in love with you already, Steve,” Bucky said quietly. “Are you sure you don’t want to try?”</p><p>Steve squeezed his eyes shut at Bucky’s heartfelt declaration. He felt like a total piece of shit. He’d promised Freddie that he wouldn’t hurt Bucky, but yet here he was. He felt like crying. “I wish it could be different.” </p><p>“Okay,” Bucky sighed. He rubbed his face again and stood, picking up his unfinished glass of scotch and downing it in one gulp. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.” </p><p>“See you,” Steve said lamely as Bucky headed to the stairs. He sat in the dark watching the flames burn down to embers in the fireplace. It didn’t take long for the fire to die.</p>
<hr/><p>Breakfast was a sombre affair.</p><p>Everyone seemed to sense the difference in the relationship between Steve and Bucky, and therefore were treading very carefully. Even Rachael’s exuberance was muted as she ate her bagel. Instead of the day before Christmas it felt like the day after a funeral, and Steve knew it was his fault. </p><p>“I’m sorry you have to leave,” Freddie said to Steve as he helped her bring the breakfast dishes into the kitchen. She glanced over at Bucky, who was talking with his father. “Did something happen with Bucky last night? Because you both seem…off somehow.” </p><p>“Nothing happened,” Steve said, too quickly. Freddie quirked an eyebrow at him. “Nothing, I swear.” </p><p>“Alright,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “But I’m here if you need.” </p><p>“Thanks,” Steve said. He picked up a dish to put it into the dishwasher.</p><p>Freddie took his forearm. “I don’t think you understand,” she said, looking straight into his eyes. “You’re one of ours now, Steve. You’re a Christmas waif, like Rachael said. That means you’ll always have a home here. Always.” </p><p>Steve’s throat closed with unshed tears. “Thanks,” he said, voice quavering. </p><p>She stroked his cheek, brushing away an escaped tear with her thumb. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” she said softly, “but it’s easier when you don’t carry these burdens alone.” </p><p>Steve nodded helplessly, unable to speak as tears slipped, one after the other, down his face. How long had it been since someone cared for him like that? It was too painful to contemplate. </p><p>“Now,” Freddie said, voice slightly raspy as she was also holding back tears. “Why don’t you finish loading the dishwasher?” She wiped carefully at one eye with the side of her hand.</p><p>Steve nodded again, and got to his task. He could feel the grief and pain churning inside him, trying desperately to make its way out. He wouldn’t let it. He <i>couldn’t.</i> He needed to get to Ithaca before Christmas morning. </p><p>He just wished he didn’t have to leave Bucky and his family, and break his own heart in the process.</p>
<hr/><p>George was the one who drove Steve back to the diner, jumped his car and then helped him scrape off two days worth of snow. </p><p>“I hope you’ll come back and visit,” George said once Steve’s car was cleared and ready to drive. </p><p>“I’d like to,” Steve said honestly, even though he knew it would be impossible. They lived too far apart to make it work, and Steve didn’t need his heart broken. <i>Your heart’s already broken,</i> his brain said treacherously, but he ignored it. It was better this way, no matter how much it hurt.</p><p>“I hope you will,” George said. “Give me your phone.” </p><p>Steve took out his phone and handed it to George, who immediately opened his contacts’ page. “I’m putting in Bucky’s phone number and our address,” George said. “So you can keep in touch.” </p><p>“Thank you,” Steve said, taking his phone back. He looked at Bucky’s number and then keyed it closed, jamming his hands in his pockets. “That’s very kind.” </p><p>“There’s something special about you, Steve,” George said. “Freddie brings home her waifs from the diner every year, but not every one of them is like you.” </p><p>“There’s nothing special about me,” Steve said, blushing, “I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.” </p><p>“Bucky’s another one of Freddie’s special ones,” George said like Steve hadn’t spoken. “Did he tell you how he ended up in our lives?” At Steve’s nod, George continued. “Bucky’s one in a million. Brave, smart, and resilient as heck. Breaks my heart what that kid’s been through. But I wouldn’t change it, because he’d never have been ours otherwise. And that’s the way it’s got to be sometimes, Steve. You’ve got to go through the pain to get to the good stuff on the other side.”</p><p>Steve nodded, head down as tears threatened once again. What was it with Bucky’s parents and their ability to make him cry? “I’m just trying to get through it,” Steve said. </p><p>“I know,” George said. “And Steve, I know you’ve got your uncle in Ithaca, but you’ve got us now, too. You don’t have to do this alone.”  </p><p>“Yeah, okay,” Steve said, perilously close to tears. George pulled him in for a tight embrace, and Steve managed to hold himself together and not start crying on George’s shoulder.</p><p>“Be safe,” George said, and turned back to his truck. Steve waved and got into his car, locking the door behind him. George waved to him through the windshield and then pulled out of the parking lot. Steve knew he’d never see him again.</p><p>He forced himself to breathe deeply, get his burning eyes and churning emotions under control. He wasn’t going to lose it and break down. Not here. Not ever. </p><p>He turned on the engine and started down the long drive that led back to the main road, keeping his eyes forward.</p>
<hr/><p>“Steven!” </p><p>Steve turned to see his uncle, Father Byrne, striding towards him. His white collar was just visible under the neck of the colourful ski jacket he wore. Snow stuck to the hem of his black pants above his boots.</p><p>“Uncle Donal!” Steve cried as he threw his arms around the other man. </p><p>“You’ve grown, lad,” Donal said, his Irish accent ringing like a bell. “The last time I saw you, I swear you barely came up to my shoulder.” </p><p>Steve laughed at his uncle’s falsehood, but then he sobered. “That was at my mother’s funeral.” </p><p>“So it was,” Donal said thoughtfully. “I can’t believe it’s been over six months since we cremated her.” Steve nodded as the heaviness grew within him. “And I suppose you’ve brought her ashes?”</p><p>“Yes,” Steve said, “they’re in the car.” </p><p>Donal gestured to Steve and they started walking across the grounds back to the parking lot. It was slow going from the accumulation of snow, but the sky was clear and sunny and it was almost pleasant being outside.</p><p>“I had wanted to spend some time with you to discuss how you wanted to celebrate Sarah,” Donal said as he lifted his feet high to try to clear the snow. “But no matter. We still have a few hours before Mass starts. We can talk now, if you have time?”</p><p>“It’s the only reason I came,” Steve said, then blushed as he realized what he’d said. “Not that I didn’t want to see you—”</p><p>“It’s alright, Steven,” Donal said with a laugh. “I know you’re not nearly as pious as your mother was.” </p><p>“No.” Steve shook his head. He licked his lips. “Do you think that bothered her?”</p><p>Donal stopped walking. “Didn’t you ask her?”</p><p>“I didn’t think about it. And then she got sick and…” Steve let his head drop, miserable.</p><p>“I think she loved you more than her own life,” Donal said. “She knew you were a good man, Steven, and she was proud of you. I doubt your lack of religiosity would have changed that.” </p><p>Steve nodded, mollified by his uncle’s words, but he didn’t start walking. </p><p>“Your face is a long as a horse’s,” Donal said. “What else is bothering you?”</p><p>“A couple things, actually,” Steve said. He scuffed his boots in the snow.</p><p>“Alright, lad, we’ll have a chat,” Donal said. “But first, let’s get your mother’s ashes from your car and then go back inside. It’s cold enough to freeze the nipples off a bull!” </p><p>Steve laughed and started walking again, glad he’d made the trip. Maybe his uncle could help him, maybe not. But at least he’d kept one promise. </p><p>He tried not to think of the other promises he’d made: to Rachael that he’d come back, and to Freddie that he wouldn’t hurt Bucky. He’d always thought of himself as an honest person, but he wasn’t sure that was true anymore.</p><p>He hoped his mother would still be proud of him, wherever she was in Heaven.</p>
<hr/><p>The kitchen of the rectory was almost as cozy and as warm as the Barnes’ residence, and it made Steve miss them fiercely even though he’d only been away from them for a few hours. He sipped his tea, letting the warmth seep through his fingers, and tried not to think of Bucky, and how warm his body had been against his hands.</p><p>“So, what’s on your mind?” Donal said as he sat down at the kitchen table. He’d traded his boots for a pair of fuzzy slippers shaped like moose feet and Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “My feet are toasty warm and these were a present from one of my parishioners, so you keep quiet.” </p><p>“Sorry,” Steve said. “It’s just—”</p><p>“I know. Priests only think about Godly things and have no sense of humour,” Donal said. “And it’s terribly shocking when we behave like you mere mortals.” He winked. “Now, what’s on your mind?”</p><p>Steve took a fortifying sip of his tea, and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a moment trying to collect himself. “Donal,” he said at last, “I’m gay.” </p><p>Donal blinked at him. “Is that your problem?”</p><p>“Yes?” Steve asked. “No? isn’t it?”</p><p>“Not to me.” Donal shrugged. “And not to the Pope, either. Well, at least not anymore. But it’s never been an issue with me. Surely you remember that?”</p><p>“I don’t remember talking about sexual orientation with you,” Steve said. “Did we?”</p><p>“Maybe not.” Donal frowned. “But I did with your mother. She knew you were gay since you were a wee one. Oh, don’t look at me like that! I was her brother, for goodness sakes! Of course, she would’ve told me.”</p><p>Steve felt the world tilt beneath him, and he grabbed the edge of the table for support. “Mom knew I was gay?” </p><p>“Like a Christmas tree,” Donal said. He sipped his tea. “Didn’t you know that?”</p><p>“No,” Steve said faintly. “I didn’t.” </p><p>“She was probably waiting for you to come out of the closet to her. I’m guessing from your very pale face that you didn’t?”</p><p>“No,” Steve said again. “I was going to, but then she got sick and…” </p><p>“And she died,” Donal finished quietly. “One of the very worst days of my life.” </p><p>“Mine, too,” Steve said. He fingered his teacup, tears welling up in his eyes. “I never told her,” he said again. “I was so worried—so <i>scared</i>—that she’d reject me if she knew, and then she died. She died without knowing who I really was. How can she be at peace when I let her down like that?”</p><p>“Trust me, Steven,” Donal said. “Your mother knew you were gay.” </p><p>“But I never told her!” Steve exclaimed. “I wasn’t honest with her! I lied! I let her go to her death thinking I was straight to save myself the pain of her rejecting me! But she wouldn’t’ve, would she? She would’ve accepted me for who I am, and I never let her! How can she be at peace with a son like that?”</p><p>“Hm,” Donal said. He leaned back and had a sip of his tea, looking contemplative.</p><p>“Well?” Steve demanded, after Donal hadn’t said anything for far too many minutes. “Don’t you see how I let her down?”</p><p>“It depends,” Donal said. </p><p>“It depends?” Steve repeated, frustrated. “On what?”</p><p>“On your perspective, I suppose.” </p><p>“On my perspec—what’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“That, if you look at it another way, she let you down.” Donal punctuated that statement with a raised eyebrow and a gesture with his cup.</p><p>“Let me down? She never! How did she let me down?”</p><p>“Because she didn’t make you feel safe enough to tell her,” Donal said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You didn’t tell her because you thought she’d be unaccepting, angry, hurt. And how would you come to that conclusion, unless it was her that gave it to you?”</p><p>Steve opened his mouth to reply, then shut it, then opened it again. “My mother was an angel,” he said finally. </p><p>“Yes, she was, God rest her soul,” Donal said. “But she wasn’t truly one of God’s Holy Angels. Just an imperfect mortal, like the rest of us. She made mistakes. We all do. But she didn’t make the mistake of not loving you for exactly who you were.” </p><p>Steve put out his hand to trace his finger down the shiny urn sitting on the table. He’d taken it out of the cardboard box he’d been carrying it in for the last half year in preparation for tonight. The ceramic felt smooth and cool beneath his fingers, so painfully separate from the women it now contained. “I miss her,” he said, voice breaking. “I miss her everyday.” </p><p>“As do I,” Donal said. “And even though I know with my whole heart she’s in a better place, standing at the right hand of God, I still feel the pain of her loss here on Earth.” He put his hand on Steve’s forearm, squeezing gently. “But the grief you’re feeling now? The pain? There is a season for everything, Steven, and this is your season to mourn. But seasons don’t last forever.” </p><p>“She knew I was gay, and she loved me,” Steve said. It was uplifting and devastating at exactly the same time: knowing that she knew who he was and accepted him for it, but he hadn’t. “I wish I had known.” </p><p>“Regrets are illuminations come too late,” Donal said.</p><p>“What’s that from? Cornithians?”</p><p>“Joseph Campbell.” Donal grinned. “But it should’ve been in the Bible.” </p><p>Steve laughed. “I get it, though. I regret not telling my mom sooner, because now I know how she would’ve reacted.” </p><p>“The truth is illuminated,” Donal agreed. “And a powerful lesson that is, too.” </p><p>“And what lesson is that?”</p><p>“Ask more questions. Don’t assume you know the people you’re closest to, and don’t make decisions out of fear,” Donal said, punctuating the sentences with his teacup. “Because that is the quickest path to regret of them all.” </p><p>“I can see that,” Steve said glumly. “I was afraid of how my mother would react. But that fear seems so small compared to my regret.” </p><p>“Cheer up, lad,” Donal said. “Your mother is teaching you things even beyond the grave. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is.” </p><p>Steve had to smile at his uncle’s optimism. He raised his teacup. “I’ll drink to that.” </p><p>“Your mother adored you,” Donal said. “And be it man or woman, she wanted you to be loved.”</p><p>Steve swallowed against the new swelling of tears. “I can see that,” he choked out. </p><p>“Now then.” Donal lifted the urn off the table, holding it as gently as if it were spun glass. “I’ve chosen a place for her on the grounds, by the gardens she loved so much as a child. The ground is frozen, but I had the spot excavated in the Fall, once I knew your plans.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Steve wiped at his eyes. “This place meant so much to her.”</p><p>“She was baptized here. As were you, and she and your da were married here as well. It’s fitting this would be her final resting place.” </p><p>“Watched over by her favourite brother.” Steve smiled through his tears. “Thank you. For doing this. It means a lot.” </p><p>“She was my sister,” Donal said softly. “I’m glad to give her a place to rest.” </p><p>“So,” Steve said, taking a cleansing breath. “I assume you got the list of the people to invite? I was hoping the ceremony could be held before Mass tonight. Midnight Mass was always my mom’s favourite. I think it would mean a lot to know that we were there.” </p><p>“Everything has been set up for a few months now,” Donal said. “I just wanted to talk to you about the prayers.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Steve took another breath. “I’m ready.”</p>
<hr/><p>The ceremony was touching, short, and sweet. </p><p>Donal led the handful of Sarah’s friends through a series of prayer that acknowledged both their pain at her loss and the celebration of her entering the Holy Kingdom. Steve wasn’t sure he believed in the hereafter, but the words were comforting, as was the idea that his mother was in a better place. The last few months of her life had been consumed with pain and illness. He really wanted to think of her free of suffering in Heaven. </p><p>Steve cried a little as the small urn was placed in the flower bed. The ground was indeed frozen, but Donal had made sure the small pile of dirt that was excavated for Sarah’s final resting place had been well-covered with a tarp, so it was easy to shovel over her last remains. </p><p>“I’ll plant flowers there, as soon as spring comes,” Donal promised him. “Yellow, like her hair.” </p><p>“She’d like that,” Steve said, wiping the cold tears off his cheeks. “She always loved roses.” </p><p>“Roses it is,” Donal said.</p>
<hr/><p>Donal led his congregation in a joyous Midnight Mass to welcome in Christmas Day. He used his ringing baritone to both inspire his parishioners and to belt out the carols they all sang together. </p><p>Steve sang as loudly as he could, throwing his heart and soul into the lyrics of the carols he’d memorized when he was growing up, but hadn’t sung in years. He smiled, eyes wet, throughout the service, feeling lighter and freer than he had since before his mother got sick. Maybe ever. </p><p>He readily shook hands with the worshipers around him, repeating “peace be with you,” and “Merry Christmas,” to everyone. When Donal called the faithful up for Communion, Steve went. It had been a long time since he’d accepted the blood and body of Christ, and he was profoundly moved to have his uncle place the thin wafer on his folded hands and then receive his blessing. Steve let the wafer dissolve on his tongue as he went back to his seat in the pew, glad he’d decided to do it. </p><p>The Midnight Mass was always his mother’s favourite, and it was like Sarah’s spirit was all around him: glowing through the bright faces of the other people, and ringing through every note of the carols they sang. He could feel her with him, like a bright spark in his heart and an undying warmth in his soul. His mother loved and accepted him for exactly who he was. He was extraordinarily blessed. </p><p><i>Joy to the World</i> was the final carol that led them to the end of the service. Steve sang with his whole heart, not even bothering to wipe the tears off his cheeks as they rolled down his face. He wasn’t sure he really believed in God anymore, and he hadn’t been a true Catholic for a long while. But in this moment, he believed with the same unwavering faith he’d had as a child. He missed Sarah terribly, and he knew he always would, but for the first time since she’d died, he felt a new emotion come to rest beside his grief. It was hope.</p><p>Afterwards, he followed the parishioners to the church basement to share in some refreshments. He grinned as he went down the stairs to the large, open room. It smelled a bit like smoke and a lot like cookies and Steve was immediately transported to Sundays after church and the simple joys of having a sweet treat and a juice box as a reward for staying quiet during the sermon. </p><p>“So, what’d you think?” Donal asked as he came up beside him.</p><p>“It was…” Steve shook his head, momentarily lost for words. “It was amazing,” he said finally. “Sarah would have loved it.” </p><p>“I wrote the sermon with her in mind,” Donal said. “And I swear, I felt her there, when I delivered it.” </p><p>“Me, too,” Steve said. “I think she’ll be happy here.” </p><p>“As I hope you will be, too,” Donal said. “We’d love to have you back.” </p><p>“Move to Ithaca? My job’s in New York. I can’t.” But even as Steve said it, he realized that wasn’t actually true. Stark Industries had moved out of Manhattan to Esopus, which was why he was spending most of his time working from home. He’d said as much to Rachael at dinner two nights before, and she’d asked him if he were lonely. </p><p>He was. </p><p>He’d been lonely for a long time, but he hadn’t done anything about it. Hadn’t wanted to, because when you loved someone, they could leave. And when they left, it hurt. It had hurt when Sam left for D.C. And when his mother left him, first through illness and then through death, it had hurt the most of all. </p><p>He’d spent the last year holding himself separate from everyone, trying to protect himself from that same kind of hurt. It’d stopped him from moving with his job, or following Sam to D.C. </p><p>It had stopped him from falling in love with Bucky and his family, or letting them love him in return. </p><p><i>Regrets are illuminations come too late,</i> he thought. And he’d done it again, hadn’t he? He hadn’t figured out in time that all the reasons he’d had for not being with Bucky were based on fear. His illumination had once again, come too late.</p><p>Unless it hadn’t?  </p><p>“I don’t know what you were thinking about Steven, but your face went through several very complicated expressions,” Donal said. </p><p>“I was thinking about a man,” Steve said, thoughts whirring. “And that I think I might be in love with him.” </p><p>“Where is this man?” Donal asked, all curiosity and not a speck of judgement. </p><p>“New Sokovia. With his family.” </p><p>“Family! Is he married?”</p><p>“No!” Steve clarified immediately. “With his parents and his sisters. When I couldn’t make it here because of the snowstorm, they were the ones who took me in.” </p><p>“Like Mary and Joseph on Christmas Eve,” Donal said brightly. “What’s his name?”</p><p>“Bucky,” Steve couldn’t help but smile as he said it. “Bucky Barnes.”</p><p>“He doesn’t know how you feel, does he?” Donal asked, but it wasn’t really a question.</p><p>“No.” Steve shook his head, “I didn’t tell him. Because I was afraid.” </p><p>“And how do you feel now?”</p><p>“That I want to be with him,” Steve said. “That I love him. I’m not afraid anymore.” </p><p>“Then you should go to him,” Donal said with finality. </p><p>“Now? But it’s one in the morning!” </p><p>“It’s a two-hour drive to New Sokovia,” Donal said reasonably.</p><p>“I’d get there around three!” Steve protested. “I can’t just knock on the door and wake them up!” </p><p>“Check under the mat for a key,” Donal said. </p><p>“Break in?” Steve said, scandalized.</p><p>“Or sleep in your car. Don’t do that, actually. It’s too cold. But knock on the door instead. But you should try to be there before he wakes on Christmas morning. This Bucky seems like he’s worth a grand gesture.” </p><p>Steve thought about Bucky: his mind and his heart. His courage and his grace. He was worth everything. “You’re right, he is.”</p><p>“Then best be on your way.” Donal ushered him towards the door. “Text me when you get there!” </p><p>“I will!” Steve grabbed his coat from where he’d hung it on the makeshift coatrack by the stairs. He pulled Donal into a fierce hug. “Merry Christmas, uncle.” </p><p>“Merry Christmas,” Donal said. “Now go get your man.”</p>
<hr/><p>Steve took just enough time to grab his overnight bag from the rectory before he was on the road. The streets out of town were nearly empty. Quiet and peaceful, like he was the only person left on Earth.  </p><p><i>That’s not true,</i> he thought before he could be sucked too far into melancholy. Sarah might be gone, but there were other people who loved him: Donal and Sam; Freddie and her family, and maybe Bucky too, if Steve hadn’t already wrecked everything. He stepped harder on the gas pedal. </p><p>He stopped for gas on the outskirts of Ithaca just before he got on the highway. It was a combination gas station and convenience store that had last-minute gifts on display. One caught Steve’s eye, and he immediately bought it, placing it carefully on the seat beside him. His mind was already working with the possibilities it presented. </p><p>The drive back to New Sokovia was illuminated by a moon past it’s first quarter. The light reflected off the snow and brightened the sky, making it feel closer to dawn than the middle of the night. There was no-one on the road and Steve drove with single-minded purpose and a heavy right foot. He ended up making the two-hour journey in less than three quarters of the time.</p><p>The Barnes’ house was still illuminated with the plain white Christmas lights, and they washed the house in a gentle golden glow. Steve sat in their driveway for a minute, just taking in the warmth the house exuded, and how peaceful it was in the silence of the night. </p><p>He got out of his car, taking care to grab both his overnight bag and the gift he’d bought. He closed the car door as softly as possible, loathe to wake anyone up. There was indeed a mat by the door as Donal had predicted, but when Steve turned down a corner, no key appeared. The front porch had a pair of cold patio chairs, but no key tucked into their cushions. Steve frowned, hands on hips, wondering what to do next. He looked back to his car and his frown deepened. He had no desire to sleep outside in the frigid temperatures, but he had even less of a desire to wake up Bucky and his family. <i>Should I call Bucky?</i> he wondered. George had put Bucky’s phone number into his phone, but he really didn’t want to call him at three-thirty in the morning on Christmas day. </p><p>Steve sighed in defeat. Hopefully there would be a hotel open on Christmas. He didn’t want to have to drive all the way back to New York just because he couldn’t open the door. </p><p>The thought made him pause. It was fair to assume the Barnes family would’ve locked their door, but what if they hadn’t? Steve hadn’t even checked. <i>Regrets are illuminations come too late,</i> he thought. He knew exactly how much he’d regret it if he didn’t try. He took a short breath for courage and turned the handle. </p><p>To Steve’s surprise, the door swung open easily, letting Steve inside like it’d been waiting for him. Steve went into the anteroom and locked the door behind him. Soundlessly he toed off his boots and hung up his coat. He crept by the stairway to the bedrooms and into the great room where the lights of the Christmas tree still gleamed. </p><p>A pure white cat with very fluffy fur stepped in front of him. </p><p>“Oh hey,” Steve said in a whisper. “You must be Alpine.” </p><p>The cat <i>chirped</i> at him and then proceed to figure eight around his ankles, purring madly. Steve bent down to pet him, and he purred louder, bumping his hand with his head. It was a slow procession of petting and purring, but Steve finally made it to the big kitchen table. Carefully, he put his overnight bag on the floor and pulled the gift he’d bought out of its bag and placed it in front of him on the table. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, then began.</p>
<hr/><p>It was nearly five a.m. by the time Steve had put the finished pieces into the family’s stockings hung over the fireplace. He sat heavily onto the couch, feeling a strange combination of elated, nervous and exhausted. <i>I should get up,</i> he told himself. <i>Go back to the car and sleep there.</i> It was still full dark outside, even with the brilliance of the moon. It looked cold and dark and lonely. While inside was warm and inviting, and Steve was so tired of feeling alone. </p><p>But he knew he had to go. It was probably only a matter of minutes before Rebecca and Rachael came running down the stairs, excited and eager to open their presents. He could only imagine how terrifying it would be for them to find him in their living room. Causing them distress was the last thing he wanted. </p><p>He heard a small <i>mroup</i> and suddenly Cocoa was in his lap, kneading at his thighs and purring. </p><p>“Hey, girl,” he crooned softly as he petted her. She bumped her head into his chest and then plonked herself down, curling into the ‘v’ of his thighs. “You can’t stay here, I’m getting up.” The cat ignored him and closed her eyes. </p><p>Alpine jumped onto the back of the couch and settled, half on the couch and the rest of him on Steve’s shoulder, purring contentedly. Steve was effectively trapped by soft, warm kittens. He laughed, and then carefully pulled his feet up onto the couch, only shifting Alpine slightly. Alpine grumped, but moved his butt so that he was even more nestled against Steve. He made a surprisingly comfortable headrest. </p><p>The vibrations of their purring were a soothing melody against Steve’s skin. He felt warm and cozy and safe for the first time since Sarah got sick. His eyes drifted shut.</p><p>“Steve?”</p><p>Steve’s eyes cracked open. “Hey Bucky,” he smiled. “What’re you doing here?”</p><p>“I think I’m the one who should be asking that question,” Bucky said. “Shove over.” </p><p>Steve lowered his legs onto the floor and moved so he took up less of the couch. The cats had left at some point, he realized. His head was still foggy with sleep, so when Bucky sat down beside him, he didn’t think twice about throwing his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulling him into his chest. “Better,” he muttered. He closed his eyes. </p><p>“Hey,” Bucky elbowed him in the ribs and Steve woke up. “Seriously, what are you doing here? I thought you were meant to be in Ithaca with your uncle.” </p><p>“Your door was open?” Steve said sheepishly.</p><p>Bucky rolled his eyes. “Freddie and George always leave the door open Christmas eve. To make sure anyone who needs it has a warm place to stay.” </p><p>“Like Mary and Joseph,” Steve said. “That’s really beautiful.” </p><p>“It might be beautiful, but I’m not sure how smart. They let you in, after all.” Bucky smirked as he said it, but Steve could still see the pain behind the words. </p><p>He sat up and moved so he could look Bucky in the eye. He cleared his throat. “Bucky—”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Bucky said. “I get it. You coming back here doesn’t mean anything. You still live in New York and I still live here, and there’s no way that this could work. I get it. It’s fine.” He was still smiling, but there was hurt reflected in those gorgeous grey eyes. Hurt that Steve had put there. When he’d promised Freddie he wouldn’t.</p><p>“No,” Steve said desperately, “no Bucky. Please don’t think that. You can’t.” </p><p>“Think what?” Bucky said, confused. “What can’t I think?”</p><p>“That me coming back doesn’t mean anything. That this couldn’t work. That I don’t want you. Because…because none of that is true.” </p><p>Bucky was looking at him, grey eyes dark with emotion. “But you said you didn’t even want to try.” </p><p>Steve closed his eyes against the rush of shame. “I was scared. I was scared and I should never have said it, and I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You were scared?” Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Why?”</p><p>“Because my mother died in May. And then my best friend left for D.C. And…and I didn’t want anyone else to leave me. Because it hurt too much.” He covered his eyes with his hands, feeling the burn of tears. </p><p>“C’mere.” Bucky pulled Steve into his arms. “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Bucky said against Steve’s hair as Steve wept onto his shirt. “Your mom dying and being left alone like that. I’m really sorry that happened.” </p><p>“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Steve said between his tears. “I’m so sorry.” </p><p>“It’s okay,” Bucky soothed. “You’ve been dealing with a lot. It makes sense that you don’t want a relationship.” </p><p>It was like a splash of cold water on Steve’s heart. He sat up, hands on Bucky’s broad chest for support. “But I do want a relationship,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “With you. That’s why I came back.”</p><p>Bucky blinked and then a slow smile spread across his face. “You came back for me?” </p><p>“Yeah, for you.” Steve smiled at him. “Because I’m half in love with you, too, Bucky, and I don’t want to regret not trying.” </p><p>“Well, that’s good,” Bucky said, and then they were kissing like Steve was a Christmas present and Bucky wanted to unwrap him with his mouth. Steve put his hands on Bucky’s neck, then traced down the firm muscles of his back to his waist. His skin was warm even through the thin long sleeve t-shirt Bucky wore and suddenly Steve was desperate to touch. He yanked up the hem of Bucky’s shirt, sliding his hands underneath. Bucky moaned against his mouth and leaned into his touch, pressing his chest flush with Steve’s. Steve felt his cock harden, straining against the zipper of his jeans. He wanted Bucky with every fibre of his being.</p><p>“Do you still have the condoms and lube in your room?” Steve panted, forehead pressed to Bucky’s, his hands resting on the spaces where Bucky’s neck met his shoulders. </p><p>“Yeah,” Bucky said back, equally as breathless. “But I don’t think we’ll have time before—”</p><p>There was the clatter of feet on the stairway and then the noise of two teenage girls bursting into the room. </p><p>“Merry Christmas, Bucky!” Rachael shouted at the top of lungs before diving onto her brother and driving him backwards into the couch. </p><p>“Steve?” Rebecca said, coming to a halt before the couch. “What are you doing here?”</p>
<hr/><p>“We didn’t know you were coming back,” George said apologetically to Steve as he handed out the stocking to everyone but him.</p><p>“You’re not missing much,” Rebecca said from where she was seated on the floor leaning on Bucky’s legs. “We get our big gifts on Hanukkah. Today’s just stockings.” </p><p>“Which we are very grateful and appreciative of, because we are thankful and unspoiled children.” Bucky pulled her hair and she squeaked.  </p><p>“I love my Christmas stocking,” Rachael said primly. “It has all the chocolate.” </p><p>“What about the Hanukkah gelt?” Freddie asked, pretending to be affronted. “Don’t tell me you’re choosing pagan chocolate over ours!” </p><p>George shook his head while the children laughed. “Why must you always call my holiday pagan?”</p><p>“Because you have a tree inside the house,” Freddie said. “If that’s not pagan, I don’t know what is.” </p><p>“They have this argument every year,” Rebecca explained to Steve. “Mom is not a huge fan of Christmas.” </p><p>“Lies!” Freddie said, “I love Christmas because your dad loves Christmas. And if he wants to be a pagan tree-worshiper, I will join him.” </p><p>“Okay, enough.” George laughed. “Let’s open our stockings and leave my poor holiday alone, shall we?”</p><p>“I hope I got an iTunes card!” Rachael said happily as she started pulling the treats out of the large cloth sack that only remotely looked like a sock. </p><p>“I’ll share what I get with you,” Bucky whispered as he began taking his items out and putting them on the coffee table in front of him. Steve sat up straighter as everyone emptied their stockings, feeling strangely nervous as they all took out the rolled-up sheet of paper tied with ribbon. He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping they would like it.</p><p>“What’s this?” Rebecca asked as she unrolled her paper. “Is this me?” She held up the drawing, eyes wide. “Who made this?”</p><p>“I did,” Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, made one for each of you.” </p><p>“I love it!” Rebecca squealed. She held up her picture for everyone to see. </p><p>Steve had chosen a realistic portrait style for all the drawings. He’d wanted a way to illustrate the kindness, compassion and determination that radiated from all of them as they strove to live <i>Tikkun Olam</i> in their everyday life. He’d drawn all of them in close-up, Rebecca he’d drawn with her hair back and a soft smile on her face. Rachael was grinning brightly, hair down. George he’d drawn with a thoughtful expression, and Freddie he’d drawn with her eyes soft, and radiating kindness. </p><p>Bucky he’d drawn like a survivor. </p><p>He’d made Bucky’s expression tightly determined, like someone who’d gone through hell but knew they’d survive. He’d put his heart and soul into those drawings, and even though they’d been spontaneous and quick, he knew it was some of his best work. He really wanted the Barnes to like them.</p><p>“This…” Freddie said after everyone except for Rebecca had been quiet for far too long, “this is absolutely stunning.” </p><p>“I can’t believe you drew this,” George said, not lifting his eyes off the page. “I’m going to frame this and put it in my office. It’s wonderful.” </p><p>“Can I frame mine too, daddy?” Rachael said. “It’s the best picture I’ve ever had.”</p><p>“I totally want to style my hair like that,” Rebecca said. “I look amazing.” </p><p>“Thank you,” Steve said to everyone, “I’m so glad you like them.” </p><p>“We love them,” George said. “this is a tremendous gift.” </p><p>Steve turned to Bucky who was still staring at his picture and not saying anything. “Bucky?”</p><p>“I look like George,” Bucky said softly, eyes glowing. “You’ve made me look like my dad.” </p><p>“Well, yeah,” Steve said with an uncomfortable laugh. “I kind of had to draw you like that. You look just like him.” </p><p>“I look just like you,” Bucky said to George, voice full of wonder.</p><p>“Of course, you do.” George’s voice was gruff. “You’re my son.”  </p><p>Bucky got up and he and George hugged for a long time. He turned to Steve. “You think I look like dad?”</p><p>“You’ve always looked like dad.” Rachael rolled her eyes. “We told you.” </p><p>“It’s Rachael who looks adopted, not you,” Rebecca said. Rachael gave her the finger, then apologized sheepishly when Freddie glared.</p><p>“You seriously look just like him,” Steve said to Bucky. “Didn’t you know that?”</p><p>“I didn’t know,” Bucky said. “Not until I saw this. I think it’s the best compliment I’ve ever received.” </p><p>“I think it’s the best compliment <i>I’ve</i> ever received,” George said. He turned to Steve. “Thank you.” </p><p>Steve let out a breath as he looked back and forth between the family. “You really like it?”</p><p>“I love it!” Rachael exclaimed.</p><p>“You have real talent,” Freddie nodded. “I can’t believe you drew these.” </p><p>Bucky’s grin was enormous. “Yeah.” He moved back across the room, sat back down beside Steve on the couch and captured Steve’s lips with his own, kissing him deeply until Steve was almost breathless.</p><p>“I thought that might happen,” Freddie mused.</p><p>“Me, too,” George agreed.</p><p>“Ew,” Rachael said.</p>
<hr/><p>Breakfast Christmas morning was the complete opposite of breakfast Christmas eve. </p><p>Where the latter had been sombre and sad, the former was joyous, bright and ringing with laughter. </p><p>“How’s your uncle?” George asked Steve as he took a helping of the overnight casserole Freddie had made. “He must have been happy to see you.” </p><p>“He was.” Steve nodded and took a breath. It was going to be hard saying it out loud but he was tired of living so separate from others. “We, uh, buried my mother.” </p><p>Five pairs of eyes were instantly on him, so full of empathy that Steve felt a lump rise in his throat. How could he ever have wanted to run away from this caring? “Oh honey,” Freddie said softly. “What an awful thing.” </p><p>“She died in May,” Steve said, looking at Bucky. He’d told him already but he knew his family hadn’t heard it. He blinked against the rush of tears and wiped his eyes with his napkin. </p><p>Rachael’s eyes were also shiny with tears. “Your mother died?”</p><p>Steve nodded. “She was cremated, like she wanted. Because she didn’t want to be buried in May.  Christmas was always her favourite holiday and she asked me…” He stopped to wipe his eyes again, barely able to contain them. “She loved Midnight Mass. So, yesterday we buried her ashes in the church garden. But it’s okay, really. She’d been sick for a long time, and she’d always loved the flowers there. My uncle is going to plant some roses—"</p><p>“Steve,” Freddie said, direct enough that he stopped babbling. She’d gotten out of her seat and come over to him, offering him her hands. “Come here.” He stood and she pulled him into her arms. He was nearly a foot taller than she was, but he felt completely enveloped by her embrace. She reached up and held the back of his head, while her other arm was as far up his back as she could reach. “Your mother died, Steve,” she said. “That’s not okay.” </p><p>That simple truth was his undoing. He sobbed, cried in a way that he hadn’t allowed himself before this moment. Even at her funeral in May; even when she died in his arms at the hospice. He’d never permitted himself to feel the grief flow through him like this. He’d been so scared of what would happen, had even assumed that if he started crying, he’d die from it. The grief would rip him to pieces. </p><p>But here he was: crying in the arms of a woman he’d only known for a few days, and he wasn’t dying. It was the opposite of dying, actually. It felt freeing, like the easing of a band he’d pulled tight around his heart. He wished he’d allowed himself to do it sooner. <i>Regrets are illuminations come to late,</i> he thought. It was absolutely true.  </p><p>Finally, his tears subsided and Freddie let him go. She wiped his cheek with her thumbs, her eyes brimming with kindness. He felt Bucky’s hand on his back, solid and comforting. Rachael hugged him around the waist and both George and Rebecca were looking at him with empathy and understanding.</p><p>“I’m sorry you’ve lost your mother, Steve, and we’ll never, ever be able to take her place. But you have a home here, now,” Freddie said. “You’ll never be alone.”</p><p>It was almost the same thing she’d said to him yesterday. He wasn’t alone. He turned to look at Bucky and then took his hand—his left hand, with it’s missing fingers. It was a visual reminder of what George had told him the day before: That sometimes you had to go through pain to experience the good on the other side. He put his other hand on Rachael’s head, touched by her compassion. “Thank you,” he murmured. He hoped those simple words could convey the depth of his gratitude.</p><p>Freddie gripped him by the shoulders, eyes warm. “Now. go wash your face, and then finish your breakfast. There’s a lot of people coming tonight, and you’re going to need your strength.”</p><p>“What?” Steve looked at Bucky.</p><p>“You’re not the only Christmas waif Freddie’s ever brought home,” Bucky said, and squeezed his hand.</p>
<hr/><p>It turned out that Freddie wasn’t joking.</p><p>“It was the worst winter of the past ten years,” May Parker said to Steve. They were sitting on the couch where Steve had slept that morning, and he was listening, fascinated, as she told the story of how she and her son, Peter, had ended up Christmas waifs as well. “Ben, my ex, was drinking again, even after he’d promised me he’d stop. But this time, when I challenged him on it, he hit me.” </p><p>Steve sucked in a breath at her casual declaration of abuse. “That’s terrible!” </p><p>“Tell me about it.” She shoved back a lock of thick brown hair that had flopped over her forehead. She was probably fifteen years older than Steve, and very attractive, and if Steve was into women at all he would’ve been enjoying his conversation enormously, even though her story wasn’t a very happy one. As it was though, his eyes kept drifting to where Bucky was chatting with one of George’s former students, wishing he was with him. </p><p>“I grabbed Peter, poor little guy, threw some stuff into a suitcase and left. I’d never been out of Syracuse before but I knew I couldn’t stay. So, I headed towards New York City and started driving. There was a pile up just outside of Scranton though, probably because of how bad the snow was falling. I took the first exit, and wound up here,” she finished her story with a shrug and a smile. “And that’s how me and Peter became Christmas waifs.” </p><p>“Wow,” Steve said. “That’s crazy, because I ended up at Freddie’s diner because of a big pile up outside of Scranton.”</p><p>“They really need to do something about those exits,” May said dismissively. “Hey, do you want a refill? Mine’s almost empty.” </p><p>“I’m good, thanks,” Steve said. </p><p>“Kay,” May said. She stood and took her glass to the kitchen, where the wine was waiting. Steve stretched his legs out, taking in the festivities and the other waifs that had joined them. </p><p>The man Bucky was chatting with was short and rumpled-looking with curly brown hair and big, soulful brown eyes that were almost too expressive for comfort. George had introduced him as Bruce Banner, and said he’d joined the Christmas waifs when he was in his freshman year and Rebecca was less than a year old. Now, Bruce had just gotten his Ph.D. and was already a world expert on something called “gamma rays” that Steve had never heard of. Steve didn’t know what had caused Bruce to join the waifs but, after hearing what had happened to both Bucky and May, he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask.</p><p>George was talking with a tall, blond man named Thor Odinson and his tiny brown-haired wife, Dr. Jane Foster. They’d recently arrived from Norway, although Jane was originally from Oregon. Dr. Foster had just been hired by George’s university and they didn’t have any family close by, which is why they’d been invited.</p><p>He watched as Rebecca flirted with Pietro Maximoff who’d come with his twin sister, Wanda. Rebecca had gushed about Pietro all afternoon and her crush on the young man was painfully obvious. The twins were refugees from the Sokovian uprising and had been taken in by the Synagogue’s congregation in New Sokovia. Naturally Freddie and George had befriended them, and now they were here. </p><p>Rachael had gone downstairs with May’s son, Peter, and another girl around their age that Steve thought was called “Skye”. Her father, Phil Coulson, was talking with George and another man who seemed to be around Banner’s age, He had short, spiky blond hair and a face that looked like it’d taken a beating more than once. </p><p>“The man you’re looking at is taken, so stop drooling,” Bucky said as he eased himself down by Steve on the couch. </p><p>“I’m not drooling. Unless I’m looking at you.” He grinned.</p><p>“Good save.” Bucky laughed. “That’s Clint Barton, Phil’s boyfriend. It was a big scandal in town when they got together. Phil’s almost fifteen years older than he is.” </p><p>“That’s how much older May parker is from me,” Steve said, “and I was thinking of going for it.” He laughed when Bucky elbowed him in the stomach. </p><p>“Shut up,” Bucky growled. Steve pulled him back so Bucky was leaning against his chest.   </p><p>“Do you know everyone here?” Steve asked, nuzzling against Bucky’s cheek. He was feeling warm and happy and just slightly buzzed from the couple of beers he’d been served. His hand slipped under Bucky’s sweater, fingertips running over his taut abdomen. </p><p>“Stop that,” Bucky muttered. “You’re turning me on.” </p><p>“Maybe that’s what I want to do,” Steve murmured against the delicate shell of his ear.</p><p>“Maybe I want you to do that, too,” Bucky said. “But not in the middle of my parent’s Christmas party!” </p><p>“Okay,” Steve said, placing light kisses on Bucky’s neck. “What time does this party end?”</p><p>“Late,” Bucky said with a groan. “And everyone usually sleeps over.” </p><p>“In your room?” Steve smiled against Bucky’s neck.</p><p>“No, not in my room.” Steve could hear the grin in Bucky’s voice. “But in the guest room next door. And downstairs.” </p><p>“Well, I guess we’ll have to be really quiet, won’t we?” </p><p>Bucky chuckled. “Probably a good idea.” He stood and offered Steve his hand, eyes twinkling. “I’m thinking of heading to bed.” </p><p>Steve stood and clasped Bucky’s hand in his. “Let’s go.” </p><p>Giggling like teenagers, the two men quickly left the great room and went up the stairs, slipping inside Bucky’s bedroom and shutting the door before anyone noticed they were gone. They were kissing in the next instant, and Steve only paused long enough to pull his sweater off over his head. </p><p>“God, you’re beautiful,” Bucky breathed before he pulled off his shirt. </p><p>Steve’s cheeks heated but he held Bucky’s gaze. “So are you.” </p><p>“Glad you think so.” Bucky lunged and they were kissing again, only this time Steve’s hands were able to explore Bucky’s skin without encumbrance. Bucky was all lean edges and smooth lines, as perfect as if he’d been carved. </p><p>Steve kissed him like Bucky was nourishment and Steve was starving. And he had been, he realized as he and Bucky fell onto the bed together. He’d been starving for companionship, and love, and hope. Everything he’d found with Bucky’s family, and in Bucky’s arms. “That picture I drew. It’s how I see you,” Steve said. He stroked a lock of hair out of Bucky’s eyes. “So beautiful, and so brave.” </p><p>“That’s how I see you, too,” Bucky said. “Only I can’t draw worth shit.” </p><p>Steve laughed, but then he bit his lip. “I wasn’t so brave when I left you.” </p><p>“You came back,” Bucky said with a shrug. “You were brave enough to come back and give this a chance. That’s all that matters.”</p><p>“I didn’t want to regret that. Not being with you. I think I would’ve regretted it for the rest of my life.” </p><p>“Well, now you don’t have to.” Bucky carded his fingers through Steve’s hair. He was using his left hand, the one that showed what he’d survived.</p><p>Steve thought of the pain and grief he’d experienced since Sarah’s death, and he realized he was a survivor, too.</p><p>“Thank you for rescuing me,” Steve said, looking deep into Bucky’s eyes. He didn’t mean just from the storm.</p><p>“It’s tradition to bring a waif home for Christmas,” Bucky said, and leaned in and kissed him.</p><p>END</p>
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